Snakepit A Stargate Draka crossover
by Dark Schtroumpf
Summary: During the war opposing Anubis and an alliance of Goa'uld System Lords, one damaged mothership stumbles upon the Drakaverse solar system post Final War, and unleashes something even more ruthless than the Goa'uld. Rated M for good reasons and very AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Snakepit**

**A Draka – Stargate Crossover**

As usual, the Stargate-verse is the property of, MGM I think, not mine in any case, and the Domination of the Draka is S.M. Stirling's.

Everyone knows Stargate, so I won't explain what it is. This story's going to be very AU therefore there won't be any SG1 with the familiar character set.

The Drakas are a creation of SF author S.M. Stirling, and they're _not nice guys_.

If you don't know anything about them, a good read is Wikipedia's page (.org/wiki/Draka). Another is the page on TVTropes, which I'll quote here :

"Gather around lads and lasses and I shall tell you a story of a good republic and an evil empire where the bad guys are vanquished and truth, justice, and the American Way prevail.

...Well, Science Fiction author S.M. Stirling said "Screw that". Apparently tired of seeing the same cliches being used again, and again; he created the Domination of Draka, an Evil Empire that doesn't intend to lose...ever. The Draka series is military science fiction and Alternate History at its best, and a must read for any Sci Fi fan.

(...)

The Draka timeline diverges from our own during the American Revolution, where American Crown Loyalists, due to the Dutch intervening in the war, are shipped to the new British Crown Colony of Drakia-named after Sir Francis Drake-on the southern coast of Africa. They are joined shortly by French Royalists, defeated Confederate troops, and generally the other losers of history. Burning with a desire for revenge, they founded the Domination of Draka: an Empire forged on conquest and slavery. Their goal is nothing less then world domination. Standing in their way is the United States of America and the Alliance for Democracy. And you just know this is going to be bloody."

Last disclaimer : if you enjoy "moral" stories where the good guys always win, don't go further :-D

And the story is rated M for good reasons.

**Chapter 1 : A snake running with its tail between its legs**

The system was very ordinary. An average, yellow star, a few gas giants with assorted moons, one of those being in the temperate zone and enjoying an inhabitable climate and breathable nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. The system was fairly rich in naquadah ore, and therefore a few thousand laborers mined the habitable moon's soil for a minor Goa'uld lord. Unfortunately, Karl'ac, as the Goa'uld in question was named, had chosen the (currently) losing side in the latest System Lord wars opposing Anubis and the Apophis-Yu alliance. As usual in that kind of war, the System Lords were much more inclined to attack and capture the systems owned by small fry like Karl'ac than their powerful opposite's. It was all part of the game, as alliances between the notoriously self-centered System Lords had only existed, since times immemorial, to keep galactic powers in balance.

Anubis' mysterious return from the dead (of course, Gods don't die, do they) with power and technology previously unseen among the Goa'uld had logically met a coalition of System Lords, of which Apophis and Yu were the leaders, with Baal keeping slightly apart, counting points and occasionally grabbing crumbs off the cake.

For Karl'ac, it had been an unmitigated disaster. He'd lost 3 of his 4 systems in the fights, his fleet was down to his command Hatak (an obsolete one at that), a handful of bombers and some depleted Death Glider squadrons. His remaining Jaffas were pretty demoralized, and some traitors had actually defected to Anubis. His First Prime, Chu'rel, was still loyal as far as he knew, but couldn't hide his pessimism. Karl'ac didn't even feel angry against him, as any sane Goa'uld would. He was too conscious of the realities of the situation and didn't even feel like torturing a few slaves for fun. He was currently sitting on his throne in the bridge of his Hatak orbiting the moon, trying to look bored and unconcerned and failing to.

"First Prime ! What's the status on my forces ?"

"My Lord, our remaining ships and Jaffas are prepared to die in combat, but I must respectfully advise a retreat if we're attacked. Anubis' fleet in this sector is too powerful, and we won't be able to stop it if they come in force here."

Karl'ac almost winced. He knew it perfectly well of course, but he was still a God, even if a minor one, and couldn't afford to look defeated. On the other hand... he was pretty much defeated already, and all that was left was the mopping up. The next battle would probably see him either destroyed or fleeing, a homeless Goa'uld in an unforgiving galaxy. For a fleeting instant, Karl'ac contemplated running to the Asgard and asking them for protection... now that would be amusing, he thought. Never mind that they'd probably just vaporize him with one of their death rays. He snorted.

"My Lord ?" inquired Chu'rel.

"Never mind, First Prime... If the enemy comes, we will give them a taste of their own blood !" and then be reduced to atomic vapor, he didn't add, although he could see that Chu'rel was hiding his own doubts.

The gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a cry from on of the bridge Jaffas. "Ships exiting hyperspace ! Sensors count two, three... My Lord, there are five Hataks !"

"Jaffa ! Are they enemy ?" asked Chu'rel.

"Affirmative, First Prime ! Their signatures match those of Anubis' ships... the same ones that we fought in the Mandji system !" and which gave us a pasting, the Jaffa operator didn't quite said.

"Ra's feces ! This is not good" thought Karl'ac. "Jaffas ! Prepare to fight and destroy the attackers !" he said in his best command voice, eyes flashing. "Launch the Death Glider squadrons and have them in a supporting formation. Prepare the bombers for attack runs on the lead enemy ship !"

"Jaffa, Kree !"

On their lord's command, the Jaffas jumped into action. Bombers launched from the moon's surface, gliders catapulted from the Hatak's hangars and blossomed into a fighter screen, hoping to catch enemy small craft before they could reach striking distance. Teams of Jaffas ran to their combat stations, as gunners, damage control or counter-boarding squads.

"Incoming transmission, My Lord !"

"Put it through." I already know what it's going to be, anyway... mused Karl'ac.

A female face appeared on the screen. Oh great, it's that bitch Nirrti, thought Karl'ac. I bet she fucked Anubis to get this command. Well, provided Anubis even has a dick any more, contemplated Karl'ac. Whatever happened to him and gave him his new powers, didn't leave him much in the way of flesh.

"Karl'ac, you worthless worm, surrender at once and maybe I won't cut your balls and feed them to my pet Unas !" barked the goddess Nirrti without preamble.

Ever the lady, mused Karl'ac while considering his answer.

"Did the Naquadah-powered dildo Anubis gave you actually scramble your brains ? Or are you just mad that you can't suck his non-existent cock ? he replied in a contemptuous tone. Chu'rel and the other Jaffas internally winced. They could do nothing but fight to the death now. No way Nirrti would spare them torture and certainly a fate worse than death if captured.

Her face certainly expressed her furor, eyes flashing madly and features contorted in a snarling mask of unbridled rage.

"You filth ! You will die, I will flay you alive, all of you, then morph you into unrecognizable blobs of living rotten flesh ! Your bowels will be cut off to feed my..." her rant was interrupted as Karl'ac cut off the transmission. His Jaffas looked up at him, awaiting orders.

"Attack !"

"Kree, Jaffa !"

A stand-up fight was hopeless, one obsolete Hatak against five. A running battle was out of the question as well, as they could accelerate faster and had started with superior velocity anyway, while he was essentially immobile in orbit. They would overtake and envelop him, then pound his ship to dust. Fleeing was dubious, they would track him in hyperspace. Unless...

"Jaffa ! Set a direct course to the system's primary, maximum acceleration ! Order our gliders to..."

Karl'ac's Hatak leapt out of orbit, engines straining to accelerate the ponderous ship. Bombers and gliders followed behind, easily keeping pace. Nirrti's ships shifted course and raced to catch up while disgorging shoals of gliders and attack craft.

"Jaffa ! Time until we reach the star ?"

"Fifteen minutes, my Lord !"

It was going to be close, reflected Chu'rel. Nirrti's ships would be in range in no more than thirteen minutes, and her attack craft were already approaching their own screen. Well, they'd be in for a surprise.

200 000 klicks behind, Nirrti's lead Jaffa pilot was barking orders and urging his subordinates forward, 500 gliders in a close wall formation, Tel'tac bombers following behind. They would slice through Karl'ac's meagre fighter screen and swarm his Hatak, softening it before the main force got in range. It was almost unnecessary, so outclassed it was, but a Jaffa was always glad for the opportunity to fight for his Goddess. What he couldn't have foreseen was that Karl'ac, while utterly outpowered by his opponent's massive forces, had exercised a little creativity since his last losing battle, when attack crafts had similarly swarmed his ships.

"Enemy fighters approaching range, my Lord !" "Fine... prepare to fire a salvo and have our bombers coordinate their own fire." "Jaffa... 4... 3... 2... 1... Fire main cannons !"

Karl'ac's gunners opened fire with the main antiship guns, sending powerful particle plasma bursts towards the enemy formation. As the shots passed through the screen, his bombers added their own fire, shooting energy torpedoes normally intended for anti-ground or anti-ship duty in a precise time on target salvo. Such fire was normally be no threat to nimble fighter craft, and their opponents got slightly puzzled at the apparently stupid move. There was no way any of them would actually be hit, after all. Just a slight maneuver pushed any craft threatened directly out of the line of fire.

"Pretty fireworks, eh ? Nice of Karl'ac's lackeys to entertain us !" snickered Nirrti's glider leader to answering laughs from his subordinates.

They didn't know and never considered the possibility that Karl'ac had found a way to degrade the plasma containment field o an energy cannon in a controlled manner, and that the combined salvoes racing towards their formation had been timed to lose containment exactly at the precise moment they would fly in the middle of it.

One moment there was a wall of Gliders, the next, space was raped by actinic flashes of energy detonations, capital plasma shots liberating energy intended to overpower a Hatak's shield in the middle of unshielded craft. The flak pattern ravaged the tightly grouped squadrons, vaporizing hulls and Jaffas alike before they could scream and blinding the bombers following them. Which meant they got caught with their pants down when Karl'ac's gliders tore into them right on the heels of the devastating flak strike.

It was a master stroke. Nirrti's bombers, stripped of their fighter cover and too far from their own Hataks' support fire, were overwhelmed by gliders intent on getting payback for their previous defeats. Thirty seconds after the initial anti-fighter strike, all of Nirrti's bombers were either destroyed or fleeing with debilitating damage. In the Hatak's bridge, Karl'ac and his command team could hear the Glider pilots cheering and hollering, taunting their running opponents.

Karl'ac was quite pleased, but he knew his success didn't change the fact that he was outgunned. The enemy ships were creeping up, and they would soon be in range. They were already opening their formation in order to outflank him. Well, there wasn't much he could do against it. They'd just have to hold until...

"Enemy ships in range, my Lord ! They're firing at us !"

"Order our bombers and gliders to attack the leading Hatak on the right flank ! Return fire, concentrate on the designated ship !"

The plan was for the attack crafts to take out weapon emplacements and weaken the shields on the outermost Hatak, chosen so it couldn't get supporting defensive fire from its mates and hopefully reduce losses among its small attackers. It was a good plan, the best they could do. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Karl'ac could only watch on the display as his last pilots sacrificed their lives, merely scratching the paint and silencing a few secondary cannon emplacements in return. He winced internally as the last bomber exploded, its shielding as much paper against a Hatak's main battery.

"Praise, my brave Jaffas ! They fought well and I, your God, will richly reward them in the afterlife !" he boasted.

Several thoughts crossed his Jaffa's minds at the moment, like "Yeah, right" "Fuck me with a staff" "We're so screwed" or "I wonder if Nirrti will cut my dick or my balls first". All very improper thoughts for Jaffas, of course. But they didn't think it would matter much longer as all five enemy ships started firing at the lone Hatak fleeing like a virgin during Chulak's fertility festival.

The Hatak shuddered as the first blasts hit its shields, joined by more, many more, until everyone aboard had to grab handholds to avoid falling as the ship heaved and pitched violently, rocked by the powerful blasts impacting it every second and straining the inertial compensators.

"Jaffa, report !" barked Chu'rel. "Shielding at 40% and falling ! 30% ! We're getting fire through... Hull breach ! We're losing air in several decks !"

All around, Jaffa damage control teams were scrambling in sealed armor, desperately trying to patch holes and repair energy conduits to keep their own guns firing – not that they made much difference.

"Time to the sun's chromosphere" asked Karl'ac. "15 seconds my Lord... it's going to be close ! We're losing shields !" The Hatak's external hull was now glowing in several places, ragged holes blasted into the strong Trinium alloy, air escaping along with the broken bodies of the Jaffas unlucky enough to stand at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"We're entering the sun's chromosphere... heat and radiation increasing inside the ships, my Lord ! The outer hull is melting ! We won't hold long !"

"Prepare to open an hyperspace window on my command !"

Karl'ac's Hatak was now a ball of fire plunging in the star's atmosphere, trailed by heavy bolts of energy. Inside the bridge, the temperature was reaching temperatures usually found in a cooking oven, and the ship's structure was creaking and groaning, loud booms signaling whole sections of hull plating popping out to be consumed on the inferno.

"We're losing the enemy ship on sensors, my Lady ! The star is interfering with our tracking !" advised Nirrti's First Prime. "Wait... is it breaking up ? The sensor readings are confusing -" "First Prime, I read a hyperspace window opening inside the star !" shouted another Jaffa. "I can't track it... too much interference !"

Nirrti's mood went from triumphant to fuming. That cursed little worm Karl'ac was escaping ! Here rage needed an outlet. Screaming imprecations, she raised her jeweled palm and blasted the offending Jaffa. He flew in a bulkhead, and she stepped forward. "Worthless traitor ! You let the enemy escape !" She proceeded to fry his brain until blood poured out of his nostrils and his eyes popped out of their orbits. She turned towards the rest of her terrorized bridge crew and thundered, eyes flashing "This is the fate of those who fail their Goddess ! Let it be a lesson for you !".

With no mean of tracking where Karl'ac's battered Hatak went, the five ships turned around and headed back to the inhabited moon. Time for the laboring slaves to start fearing their new Goddess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 : To boldly go where no snake...**

Space ripped and whirled above the reddish planet. The blueish blossom of an incoming hyperspace vortex opened and closed immediately, leaving a battered and mangled ship behind. Karl'ac's vessel really didn't look much like a Hatak any more. Huge chunks of the hull were missing, its weapon emplacements and most sensor arrays were slagged or outright ripped out, Death Glider hangars had lost their doors and atmospheric containment, their interiors were charred by enemy fire and the star's incandescent atmosphere. Battle damage had opened whole decks to space, and their corridors had been flushed by superheated gas incinerating any living thing down to bacteria. In the remaining areas, lights were flashing intermittently and damage control teams raced to replace shattered control crystals, rescue comrades trapped behind sealed blast doors, and repair vital environmental systems. Tasks made more difficult by the gravity plating being off in several sections, which left Jaffas trying to swim around and curse the lack of handholds in a Hatak's interior passages.

"Jaffa ! Report !" barked the Goaul'd Lord.

"My Lord, according to preliminary reports, hull integrity is 40% with many decks open to space, we're still venting air although we're getting it under control, shields are down with no hope of repair, the hyperdrive is inoperative and we lost most of our maneuvering ability."

"Weapons ?"

"We don't have any small craft remaining, we lost every capital cannon emplacement, and all we have left are two point defense guns in local control, as the main gunnery directors are offline." concluded Chu'rel.

A naked Unas flinging rocks could bring us down, reflected Karl'ac. The Goaul'd hoped his desperate hyper-jump in the middle of a star had indeed been untraceable. Not only was his ship half-melted, but the hyperdrive had probably given up the ghost. He couldn't escape the system. Which brought him to the next question...

"First Prime, do the sensors recognize the star configuration ?"

"Yes, my Lord. We have travelled many hundred light years outwards the galactic arm, out of the contested zone. Uh oh... the navigation computer says this system's name is "Tauri" and it belongs to the god Ra, my Lord !" finished Chu'rel with a surprised look on his normally unflappable face, which meant he had a raised eyebrow.

Karl'ac's mind went churning. Ra's territory ! No one, not even Anubis, had encroached there, so strong was the Supreme God's aura, even after he mysteriously and abruptly retired from the galactic scene. Oh, sure, some enterprising minor Goaul'd had tried to do a little grabbing on the fringe of his space, in the first centuries after Ra had stopped sending invitations for his decadent orgies, about four thousand standard years ago. No one had heard of them any more. For all intents and purposes, the Goaul'd had been treating the whole area as a no man's land ever since. You did not want to incur Ra's wrath. He was, after all, the father of the Goaul'd civilization and that deserved some measure of respect, even among the congenitally scheming, deceiving, backstabbing and treacherous System Lords.

It also meant that Karl'ac had to step carefully. For all he knew, the sector could be crawling with unstoppable self-replicating robots bent on eating everything organic. Now that was a funny idea. Well, maybe not.

In any case, the fact that this system was once part of Ra's interstellar dominion meant one thing, and the thought made Karl'ac hopeful. There might well be a Chappai. He wouldn't be stuck, he could escape towards familiar territory... by Isis' tits, there might even be some leftover technology laying around for the picking !

Karl'ac's rosy thoughts were interrupted by his First Prime.

"My Lord, we have further assessed the inner system. Please bear in mind that our sensors are crippled and not performing at their optimum, but we didn't find any trace of naquadah. The system is undoubtedly inhabited. We have detected settlements both on the closest planet, and on the inner one, which has an breathable atmosphere. There are also primitive starships that don't even appear shielded. No trace of subspace communications... My Lord, whoever those people are, they are pathetically weak and ripe for the picking !"

"Excellent, my faithful servant..." Karl'ac smirked "Set a course to that third planet, it's the most likely location for a Chappai !"

The Jaffa crew resumed their activity, sending the ponderous half-wreck towards the tiny blue beacon of hope.

They didn't notice the heavy bursts of radio and laser energy directed from the red planet to the blue one. Those means of communication were too limited and primitive to have even caught their attention, had the Hatak's sensors been fully operational. Besides, the locals could panic all they wanted, it wouldn't change anything to their eventual enslavement to the god Karl'ac. And the Jaffa crew hadn't cleaned their tubes for ages.

As the ship set towards its destination, both the Goaul'd and his First Prime wore smug airs of satisfaction.

***

Anticipation was running high on the Goaul'd Lord Karl'ac's last remaining Hatak – or what was left of it. He might be able to build a Death Glider out of the salvaged functioning parts and fly it through the Chappai... if there was any.

The Hatak settled at last in a high orbit over the planet and the sensor operator strained on his instruments, trying to pick up any trace of naquadah that would indicate either a Chappai or Goaul'd technology. Suddenly, a loud bang resonated on the hull and made everyone aboard jump out of their armor.

"Jaffa ! Report at once ! What was that noise ?" exclaimed Karl'ac.

The sensor Jaffa looked at his screen in trepidation, then steadied himself and looked up with a slightly more composed face. "My Lord, it appears that our hull was hit by a large rock or debris. There are many objects floating in orbit... looks like some largish things got smashed not too long ago here."

"Anything else, Jaffa ?"

"Affirmative my Lord ! Some of the objects in orbit are definitely active... they're changing trajectory... Lord, they're slow... They're using... chemical reaction thrusters ?" Unbelievable ! thought Karl'ac. The locals were using primitive technology, they wouldn't be difficult to subjugate and ply into obedient, god-fearing subjects. Perfect.

It was just then that the first laser struck. On a shielded Hatak, it would barely have registered as a pinprick, but the last battle had been a thorough thrashing. High energy pulse lasers and now kinetic impactors made the hull ring and tore holes in the weakened trinium alloy armor plates.

"My Lord, some of the large orbital platforms are firing on us ! And the maneuvering crafts are matching our orbit... they're on an intercept course to hit us !"

"Jaffa, fire ! Destroy them ! Prioritize those weapon platforms !"

The Hatak's two surviving cannons spat energy bolts towards the closest attacking battlestation, an ugly slab-sided construct covered in drab grey material, whose pulse laser was digging holes dangerously close to the main naquadah reactor. The first bolts missed, then the Jaffa gunners corrected and the next volley blew chunks off the station's covering. A few more volleys ablated the grey armor in clouds of rocky dust, then a fresh one hit bare metal with devastating results. Whatever those people used to build their battlestations, it wasn't as strong as trinium. The metallic shell was pierced, atmosphere and coolant vented explosively, shoving its muzzle away. Its last laser pulse went wide, before a last canon blast on the weakened section triggered secondary explosions that made it fall silent.

Inside the small armored capsules next to the guns, the Jaffa gunners hollered and switched their aim . "For our God Karl'ac ! Kree !" Unfortunately, their fire had revealed them as priority targets as well, and the attackers were already switching their bombardment. A first laser found its mark, then a second. The temperature started to climb in the gunnery capsules as the exterior plating turned dark then cherry red. In less than fifteen seconds, the air inside reached the water boiling point and the Hatak's fire started to falter as the Jaffa gunners now breathed with difficulty. Another twenty seconds later, their skin was blistering, their own armor was reaching critical temperature, cooking the flesh inside. Their lungs burned and they began to suffocate. The first gun fell silent, its Jaffa servants unconscious, soon to be dead. A last stubborn Jaffa clung to his firing controls until they no longer worked, his exposed skin blackened and blistered, pieces of his armor burning through his flesh until they reached the bone. He finally expired, the obscene hole of his charred mouth opened in a last snarl of defiance, eyes burst and melted in their sockets. The intense heat eventually became too much and both cannon emplacements exploded outwards, shoving glowing superheated debris into space.

The Hatak was now defenseless, and the battlestations relented. Their fire was not hitting the ship any more, but another danger was creeping closer.

"My Lord, those craft are decelerating – they'll come to a rest close to us ! Sire, I believe they will board the ship !"

Karl'ac's mind worked furiously. He hadn't escaped the wrath of Nirrti in order to die at the hand of primitives !

"Jaffa ! Can we maneuver ?"

"Impossible, my Lord, our engines are destroyed ! We're dead in space !"

His Jaffas were frantic, but showed no sign of panic. Good.

"My Lord, I found something ! There's a Chappai down there ! Its naquadah signature is unmistakable. And I believe there are ring transporters as well !"

_Ah, things are looking up at last_, a relieved Karl'ac thought briefly, before giving new orders. "Jaffas ! All surviving personnel are to converge in the ring transporter room. Set the main reactor to overload and prepare to abandon the ship !"

As the orders were relayed inside the vessel, damage control teams stopped trying to repair systems and instead rushed to free their comrades trapped in locked compartments, while other collected all the weapons and survival equipment they could carry and headed to the transporter room. On the bridge, the operators shot up every station with staffs and zats, preventing anyone from accessing them again. Upon Karl'ac's confirmation, the self-destruct had been activated with a ten minute countdown.

A first squad of Jaffa in fully enclosed armor stepped into the perimeter before their leader activated the rings. They worked flawlessly, sending them downwards towards the planetary surface and whatever awaited there.

Ten long seconds later, the leader called and gave an all-clear signal for the evacuation. Groups of Jaffa proceeded to beam down in orderly fashion. It took seven minutes until the last group remaining on the doomed Hatak was Karl'ac himself, his First Prime and his four bridge operators. As they stepped into the rings, they heard several loud clangs resounding across the empty, open corridors, followed by the drumming of feet that indicated boarders.

"Hope they enjoy the present we left them" smirked Karl'ac before activating the rings, his Jaffas grinning along.

Thousands of kilometers above the planet's atmosphere, an ancient, battered, ruined Hatak and the small stubby parasites that had latched themselves to its bulk disappeared in an eye-searing silent explosion, leaving a scattering of debris, not one bigger than a hand, to impact other objects in orbit or burn up on reentry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 : In the snake's lair**

"This way, my Lord !"

_Have I gone blind ?_ thought Karl'ac. No, it was only pitch black. He groped blindly and felt one of his Jaffas grab his arm and lead him away from the transporter. He had to walk carefully on the slightly irregular stone surface. He took a breath, and the next moment exploded in a fit of coughing. "I'm sorry, my Lord, there's obviously a lot of dust here and our arrival disturbed it", explained the Jaffa. "My helmet enables me to see in the dark, but..."

"Right, Jaffa..." The Goau'ld brushed away some of the dust from his tunic. "What else can you tell me ?"

"My squad checked the immediate area for threats and found none. We're apparently inside a temple, and from the look of the hieroglyphs around, it was one of Ra's. There are many rooms beyond, but we haven't gotten to exploring them yet" concluded the warrior.

Karl'ac was puzzled. From the look of things, this temple had fallen out of use a long time ago. He hoped they would find something useful, beginning with light. He couldn't do anything blind though.

"Jaffa, give me your helmet" "At once, my Lord !" He heard the metallic clanging of the retracting helmet, then felt the Jaffa fumble around and place the thing in his hands. Putting it over his own head, Karl'ac then pressed the switch and the shell deployed in place. He could see at last. Most of his Jaffas were standing around, not moving lest they trip or bump each other. The room he was in was medium sized, and a bit congested right now. There was a passageway in the far wall, obviously leading to the rest of the temple.

His visual scan finally found what he was looking for, a particular pattern of glyphs carved in the stone wall. He strode there and waved his hand device over it. He was pleased to see a panel of stone start to move and recede into the wall, leaving a set of controls in view. He pushed the largest one, a red crystalline square. Nothing happened for the next seconds, then, just as he started to fret, a buzzing sound came out of the panel, and feeble light came into being, weakly illuminating the room. He could see his Jaffas stand to attention, eyes on him, their God and leader. He switched the helmet back in stowed position and handed it back to the warrior it belonged to.

"Now let's see what else we can find."

The next room was small and empty, nothing more than an anteroom for the transporter. Karl'ac ordered a squad to stay there and keep an eye on the ring room. The rest followed him along a low dark corridor decorated by the ubiquitous glyphs extolling the feats and glory of the god Ra. They climbed up a short flight of stairs into a much larger room, with a high ceiling supported by stone pillars at two meter intervals. It was square, about 40 meters per side, with a doorway set in the middle of each wall. Karl'ac had arrived from the southern one. Upon reaching the centre of the room, he paused, his Jaffas in tow.

"Chu'rel, take twenty Jaffas and head to the North passage. I will explore the Western one and you will accompany me" He gestured to another group of warriors. "The rest of you will investigate the Eastern one. Kree !"

The three groups parted and went their separate ways. Karl'ac marched through another low corridor and emerged into another stone room. The first sight he caught there made him smile : the Chappai was here ! The unmistakeable dark gray circle was standing in the middle of the room, slightly elevated on a flight of wide steps. He approached to see better in the gloom, then stopped, almost paralyzed, a look of disbelief on his face, his Jaffas murmuring behind him. By Hathor's cunt, this was unfair. He had escaped death at the hands of Nirrti's superior fleet, burrowed into a star, made it out of his destroyed ship by the skin of his teeth and now this twice-cursed Chappai had a broken dialing stand. He looked closer. The big red dome was smashed, some keys had been bashed out and broken crystals laid at the device's feet. All of it was covered in a thick layer of dust. No way to repair it out of the material he had, especially since he wasn't an expert on this particular technology.

Karl'ac was pondering the implications of the Chappai's state of disrepair when a Jaffa ran in the room, came to attention and bellowed "My Lord ! Our First Prime found something ! He calls for you to please come and look !"

Judging from the warrior's precipitation, it had to be something important. "Lead me there, Jaffa !"

They came back through the central hall then turned north, stomped through an unremarkable corridor and emerged in a richly decorated room. Even in the dim artificial glowlight, the glitter of gold-plated walls and precious stones was dazzling. There were even richly carved pieces of furniture, but Karl'ac finally saw what had made Chu'rel send for his God and had every Jaffa present gaping.

There on the royal bed, obviously made by the best artisans of Ra's time, fine wood, ivory and gemstones, and sculpted corner stands, laid a body. Even under the eon-long dust, the outfit was recognizable. It was Ra... but it was impossible ! Karl'ac came closer until he could see the head. It was desiccated and bore little resemblance to the former Supreme System Lord. Karl'ac bent in order to look at the back of the head. Yes, through the dried skin, he could see the unnatural set of the neck bones and the trauma inflicted to the skull. He straightened, stunned, eyes vacant. If this was indeed Ra, then the most powerful God had had his head bashed in and his neck broken, terminating both symbiote and host body. But who could have done that ? No other Goaul'd, for sure, or he'd have boasted about it all the way to the Ida galaxy. He took another glance around. Another surprise... there was another body, crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. He leant over it. It didn't wear any clothes and... oh oh, it had been a female. This body was in much worse shape. His close examination revealed that "she" was not a Goaul'd host and had been beaten to death as well. Her limbs all showed open fractures, her face was a flatten dried mush, not a single tooth was visible in the grimacing maw and to top it all, there was the unmistakeable burn of staff blasts.

Had it been a Jaffa rebellion ? But it wouldn't make sense... Ra's body hadn't suffered any outrage apart from his fatal injuries. He was laying on his back, on his bed, hands joined in the classic position of the honored dead.

A picture started to form in his mind. Could Ra have been killed by one of his sex slaves... yes, that was a possibility. Then his guards would have found the culprit and executed her in a most brutal fashion, leaving her broken corpse as a last tribute to their God. That made sense. As for the smashed dialing device, the assassin could certainly have done it either before or most likely after her traitorous deed. Then she'd come back into the bedroom and been found by the vengeful Jaffas...

All that was quite sobering. Karl'ac wondered what surprise would come next. Right on cue, another Jaffa dashed in the room, panting. "My Lord... you need to come... we found the temple's exit... " _Brilliant, then why do I feel there's a catch somewhere, _thought Karl'ac. He wasn't disappointed as the Jaffa caught his respiration and spoke again. "Sire, the exit... it's caved in, there's no way out !"

"Screw me."

Only a second later did Karl'ac realize he had spoken out loud.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 : A snake reflects in a mirror**

"Screw me".

"Yes, Milord ?" _Is it me or does that greasy dumb Jaffa look eager ? _thought Karl'ac with disgust. He may have to get rid of this warrior. Later.

He kept silent and stone faced all the way to the other end of the temple. This corridor was a lot longer and made several doglegs before turning into a stair heading up towards the surface. About twenty steps from the bottom, he could see the rest disappearing under a layer of sand and rocks. The way was indeed completely obstructed by an accumulation of stone, and it did look thick. He eyes caught something on the shadowy floor... the bodies of two Jaffas in the rich, gaudy ceremonial armor of Ra's personal guard. They were in the same state of mummification as Ra and the traitor, suggesting they had died there after punishing the deicide. It looked like they had tried to scrape and dig away to no avail and simply starved to death.

Karl'ac absentmindedly rapped on the rocky obstacle, trying to wrap his head around a possible solution to the conundrum he was in. Oh, if needed, he could eat his Jaffas... but that would only delay the inevitable. The Chappai itself looked undamaged. He might be able to rig something, although he wasn't an expert in this field.

He turned and headed back, deep in thought.

He spent the next hour inspecting the temple thoroughly in case there were any pieces of technology laying around. He checked the temple's power source, a small naquadah cell that was almost used up. No luck there, as the dim state of the internal lighting had hinted. There was nothing else. He was stuck in the late Ra's temple-cum-recreation den, on a hostile planet, with no way out.

He ordered his Jaffas to take turn and try to burrow out, using blasts from their staves. The problem was, the blasts worked really well at breaking up rocks, but sand would then pour in, along with more rocks. He told the Jaffas to stop bothering after two of them were almost buried after an attempt. Not that he cared much about their lives, but he figured their death could be made more useful.

He was sitting on the steps of the Chappai when the first shock was felt. A tremor vibrated through his boots and he stood at once. Overhead, he could see dust and sand displaced from cracks in the ceiling. Chu'rel turned to him.

"My Lord ? Did you feel that ?"

"I did, First Prime."

"Could it be an earthquake ?"

"Somehow, my faithful servant, I don't think so."

A second shock, then a third a couple of minutes later. The tremor was more noticeable and the air was now heavy with dust. Five minutes later, as all were wondering what would come next, a loud boom and a violent shake almost made them lose balance.

"Someone's digging us up !"

"I do concur on your wise observation, First Prime."

They went back to the central hall where the bulk of the Jaffas were milling around, looking at the ceiling and vaguely pointing their weapons at it. Karl'ac headed straight to the exit passage, flanked by Chu'rel and a pair of armored warriors. Arrived at the foot of the stairs, they could distinctly hear a faint scraping sound mixed with sharp hits. The sound came closer as they waited, until twenty minutes later it had become a dull roar coming from beyond the blockade, which started to shift. At this point, Karl'ac had sent for more Jaffas and retreated to the first dogleg, where he could peek around. The roar stopped, then the brief silence was cut by the sharp sounds of metal hitting stone. At last, something gave way and Karl'ac squinted at a thin ray of light coming from above, illuminating the thick dust motes swirling in the air. The light became wider and he could only conclude that someone, or something, was opening up the passage. Whether that was a good or bad thing...

With a final metallic screech, the light became blinding and he retreated behind the corner, blinking tears. The stairway was open.

At a wave of his hands, Jaffas took firing positions, one rank kneeling so the standing ones behind could fire over their heads. All done silently. Karl'ac peeked out of the corner and took a deep breath as a shadow blocked the wide wedge of light coming from above. He strained his ears and heard the sound of careful footsteps. His experienced ear told him there were bipeds, several of them, hobbling over uneven ground, then over the regular stone steps of the stair.

They were coming. The Jaffas tensed, and their staves crackled with energy, ready to fire.

After a time that seemed to stretch forever, they could see a shape... legs first, then torso and arms, head, followed by a another one, and another. They could only resolve the outline as it was silhouetted by the background light. It seemed humanoid, two legs ad two arms, but... different. Deformed. The proportions were wrong. It looked positively massive, with unnaturally long arms, bulging limbs and a barrel-shaped body. As it moved towards them, they could see it more clearly. It evidently wore armor, not the like the chainmail favored by Jaffas, but an articulated and segmented one that covered every inch with a dull glint of not quite metal. The head and features were masked by a fully enclosed helmet, featureless except a visor where eyes would be and several protruding bulges and lumps. It held a weapon in its arms, pointed forward, nothing like the familiar tubular shape of a staff, but a boxy black thing bearing no resemblance to anything they knew. It had two holes on the side facing them... one bigger than the other, and what could only be described as attachments of sorts along what was almost certainly a gun barrel. What kind of energy would this thing shoot ? Some of the Jaffas speculated it might be something like a staff and a zat combined, as they watched the thing stop 20 meters from them, flanked by two others of its kind. The leader moved its head, seemingly scanning every side of the corridor ahead of him, not giving any sign of caring for the waiting Jaffas.

_Now what ?_ Thought Karl'ac.

The lead beast bellowed a command, and raised his weapon in unison with its companions. They were fast, but the Jaffas were prepared, and both groups opened fire at the same time.

The next seconds were confusing. Blinding flashes and a loud rattling, the _swaaack !_ of staff guns, screams and wet unhealthy sounds, then the sensation of being brutally pulled back, almost dragged at a running pace while the tumult behind was progressively making way to silence again. Karl'ac came back to his senses in the main hall, staring at an alert Chu'rel and Jaffa troops running to the corridor they'd come by, weapons raised and some clutching shock grenades.

"Chu'rel ! What gave you the right to lay your hand on your God ! Answer at once or I'll kill you!" he snarled in his deepest voice, eyes flashing.

"I beg your forgiveness my Lord ! I only acted to protect you ! My life is yours to take if I offended you !" The Jaffa looked sincere. Karl'ac relented. "Tell me what happened over there !"

"Sire, your warriors gave their lives for you as was their duty !"

"I know that and expect nothing else" was Karl'ac's slightly irritated reply. "So are the enemy dead ?"

Chu'rel answered over the din of battle. "Lord Karl'ac, I believe they have more warriors and effective weapons. I saw my comrades blood flow in response to the beasts' strange guns. I..." He was interrupted by a loud explosion followed by screams, some recognizable as Jaffa's and some not. "My Lord, it may be wise to leave this place" he added.

"I have an idea, but I'll need some time... take command of the remaining Jaffas and make the enemy pay every step !"

Chu'rel bowed his head and turned to the assembled warriors near the contested tunnel. "Jaffa ! We will bleed the enemy dry in this temple ! Kree !"

"KREE !"

Karl'ac started to make his way to the Chappai room. In fact, he didn't had the slightest idea how to escape this predicament, but he figured the Jaffas' futile deaths were always worth a few more minutes of his life. He paused. In front of him was the dumb Jaffa, looking up with and overeager air. "What are you doing here, worm ? There's a battle going on and your duty is to fight for me, your God !" - _and hopefully remove your worthless genes form the Jaffa pool_, he added silently.

"Milord, I have a cunning plan !"

Great. A Jaffa with delusions of intelligence. Heck, might as well listen, it wasn't as if he didn't need ideas.

"Tell me, worm !"

"Milord, we could use the ring transporters to escape back to the ship !"

Karl'ac's eyes flashed in anger and disbelief. His palm halfway reached his face before he regained his composure and simply used his hand device to blast the wretched servant away.

He was beginning to turn away when... by Apophis, why didn't he think of it before ? He spotted a staff gun laying around, picked it and almost ran to the Chappai. There, he frantically (he could afford it out of view of his Jaffas) began to disassemble the weapon and remove the glowing naquadah power cell. There, he had a power source ! One that could easily activate the Chappai. He only had to connect it, then dial the seven chevrons manually. He set to the task with haste, as the racket was coming closer by the minute. As he proceeded to strip some power wiring from the staff and attach it to the Chappai, he wondered what kind of weapon was producing the rattle he could hear. It wasn't the smooth "shwack" of a staff, or the almost musical tones of a zat'niktel. It sounded like a string of small sharp explosions very close together, mixed with occasional louder ones, usually followed by the shrieks of wounded warriors.

He finished the power connection and thought of a destination. His own systems were a no-go, Nirrti would be waiting for him. Apophis would probably want to punish him for his failure although he hadn't provided any help. Lord Yu might be understanding enough not to torture him outright. He didn't know a lot about the old System Lord's planets, but he'd heard that Chingtoku was a quiet agricultural world with a pleasant climate. He'd lay low for a while and then appear to Lord Yu's court. Yes, that seemed like the most sensible course of action... And then he'd come back to this cursed place with a proper army and exert a harsh revenge on those impudent people. Oh how sweet that would be.

He started to turn the Chappai manually. It was an exertion as the material was extremely dense and heavy, and there was a substantial amount of dust clogging the mechanism. As the first chevron engaged and locked successfully, he heard the commotion coming from the central hall. He'd better hurry up.

He'd locked the fourth chevron when Chu'rel burst in, sweating and panting. "My Lord, the enemy has reached the hall ! Half our Jaffas are dead and the enemy warriors are an endless flood ! They're inhumanly strong and fast and those guns of theirs are deadly ! We won't be able to hold them for long !"

"Then help me turn this Chappai !"

The Jaffas had lost half their number delaying the beasts in the far tunnel, and now that they had reached the more open space of the central hall, the fighting turned even more vicious. They leaned from behind the pillars to lay down fire and evade the enemy's, but their opponents started to use more of the small explosive grenades fired by their guns. The regular projectiles (indeed they didn't fire energy pulses but lumps of solid matter at very high speed, primitive but effective in piercing Jaffa armor and perforating their vital organs) were bad enough, especially fired in dense bursts, but the larger ones had positively horrifying effects, ripping limbs and heads off, or making mush of torsos encased in trinium mail. Blood and entrails had made the stone ground of the tunnel slick and treacherous and that alone had slowed the charging beasts more than the Jaffas' own fire, which seemed to have trouble overcoming the strange armor : a staff blast blackened and weakened the alien material, but it took two or three more on the same spot to wound the flesh under it. And that didn't stop the growling beasts. They seemed stronger and more resilient than even the mighty Unas, a mortal wound would still leave them fighting on for several minutes. One Jaffa had had the misfortune of being in front of such, the berserk beast had rushed him and literally tore his head out even as his comrades poured staff fire on it, before collapsing at last in a smoking heap, shaking the ground.

The Jaffas were courageous, but this was unprecedented. Several lost control of their bowels, adding to the stench of the dead and dying but not quite running away. Obedience and discipline were drilled into them since childhood in service of the gods, and the fact that they didn't break and flee was a testament to the Jaffa culture's martial prowess.

The tattered remnant of Karl'ac army retreated back to the western corridor in order to avoid being flanked and swamped and to concentrate their own fire. Their back to the Chappai, they poured an uninterrupted stream of plasma bolts in the tunnel, momentarily stopping the advancing horde. Their heart jumped in their chest as they heard the wooshing sound of a Chappai activation and saw the glimmers of blue light illuminating the walls around them.

"The Chappai is open ! Quick !"

Just in time. An enemy grenade sailed in and exploded, stunning the Jaffas, whose fire faltered enough for one beast to charge down the corridor, shooting on full auto at the retreating combatants.

Karl'ac was stepping in the shimmering blue pool of energy when he felt something punching hard on his back. He staggered forward, shocked and barely conscious of Chu'rel propping him. At the other end of the wormhole, he saw green trees and clear blue sky and heard his last Jaffas exit the Chappai at a run, still firing from the hip until after the wormhole flashed into nothingness. His vision faded at last as the symbiote entered a healing trance.

Back in the temple, the charging beast had stopped in front of the strange circle and watched its center turn from a pool of liquid light to... empty air as the rest of its squad deployed in the room. It's primitive mind didn't even pause to contemplate that the tiny cameras in its helmet had transmitted everything to its commander. Ghouloons didn't think about such things.

On the surface, a bulky shape sat over a pool of glassed sand, two hundred meters from the crater excavated by the orbital battlestation _Subjugator_. A heavy hypersonic assault scramjet, it had landed here with a company of Rapid Reaction Force ghouloons and their human officers. The commander, clad in battle armor, sat in the command chair, his tanned, lean predatory face gazing at the flat screens showing video and biometric feeds from the ghouloons soldiers as well as their position and status. He had directed the battle from here, and his mind was now rich with possibilities. He typed a command and the gray haired face of the Archon appeared, the snarling dragon emblem of the Domination emblazoned on the reinforced concrete wall of the War Directorate's underground command center.

"Archon, I can report that the mission is a success. We have secured the underground facility and driven the invaders back."

"Driven ? Care to elaborate on this, Centurion ?"

"Sir, we killed most of them, but a small group managed to escape using some sort of portal, probably leading off world. The Science Directorate will have a field day with this, I think. "

"Good. Keep the perimeter secure until you're relieved. The ground convoy is two hours out. After that, you will certainly deserve some rest and certainly a medal, Centurion. You did an impressive job there."

"Sir, I only did my duty."

"I know, Centurion Makkonen. Service to the State !"

"Glory to the Race !"

"Shrakenberg out." concluded the old, aristocratic face before cutting off the transmission.

The Drakan officer stood up and stepped out of his craft. Looking at the smoking hole that marked the beginning of a new era for the Race, he mulled over.

_Gods, they think they are, eh ? Well, soon they'll learn that gods only exist to serve us !_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 : The snake's coils**

**Archona, Domination of the Draka**

**Archonal Palace **

**May 8th, 2010**

Eric von Schrakenberg was worried. Earth was still in a sorry state of affairs after the Final War had ended, twelve years before, with the Domination's complete victory over the Alliance for Democracy. A war that had been planned and prepared for, but whose initiation had been forced on them by the foolish acts of his niece Yolande Ingolffson. It was a blessing that the Stone Dogs had worked as well as it did, for the Alliance's cyber-sabotage had been pervasive. Fortunately, the deal with General Lafarge had worked out. The remaining Draka armed forces had received replacement compsets purged of the malicious programming over the last decade. In truth, it was the only upgrade done. With the necessities of survival and reconstruction, the Protracted Struggle's mad race for better arm technology had stopped, at least temporarily.

The _New America_ gone from the Solar System, the Alliance holdouts on Luna and the asteroid belt surrendered and began to integrate the Draka society. This part of the ceasefire deal (nobody had dared call it "peace") had been the major point of contention both for the Alliance and the Domination upper leadership. The former because of their instinctive hatred for the Drakan ideology, the latter because, well, in the words of many Drakas, "those damn ferals only deserved the Yoke anyway". As a results, there was a unspoken but jointly enforced segregation between the new "metic citizens" and Draka society at large. It was only a temporary thing, though. The children of the former Alliance population were being bred and raised according to Draka standards, including the "New Race" genetic augmentations. This generation would retain no cultural or ideological ties with their parents. A fact that contributed to cause humiliation and resentment among those, although they knew fully the consequences of rebellion. Anyway, the huge toil of scraping back a interplanetary civilization from ruins had kept them busy.

At any rate, _they_ were a lot more fortunate than their compatriots earth-side. These hadn't been included in the deal... The surviving populations of North and South America had been subjected to the Yoke during the Pacification campaign. Small towns, villages and rural communities had seen their personal freedom shattered and their way of life ended forever as they were amalgamated in the traditional Plantation system. Not that it had ben painless... in the beginning many had tried to resist the inevitable. Their foolish resistance had been as futile as every serf rebellion in Drakan history. In the end, their example had cowed the remaining population in submission. Marching a column of newly captured serfs on a road lined with the brutalized bodies of rebels impaled alive on stakes or devoured by ghouloons, while distasteful, was effective in quelling thoughts of mutiny, even before the highly refined and efficient serf processing apparatus took charge of them.

Of course, this only concerned the civilians. Even now, there were still pockets of military holdouts, dispersed and hidden in mountainous and wilderness areas. They'd been waging an effective guerilla warfare, preventing Draka settlement in and around those areas. Yet for all they cunning and stubbornness, their time was counted. Their stocks would eventually run out, their caches, when discovered, were hit by kinetic impactors to avoid the casualties of a ground assault. The Bioweapon Division folks were eager to try their bag of nasty tricks, but were restrained for the time being by environmental and contamination concerns. As it wasn't a life-threatening menace, the High Command was perfectly happy to merely contain the guerilla. To this end, search and destroy columns patrolled on the ground with sensitive detection gear (which included the ghouloon troops themselves), and Rapid Reaction Force companies on alert in orbit, ready to burn through atmosphere and land anywhere on the globe at ten minutes notice. One of these had been on hand the last day, when this alien ship had mysteriously entered the Solar System and forever changed the perspectives. Which was a truly exhilarating and terrifying prospect.

Von Schrakenberg was sitting on the Archon's chair at the head of the conference table. Twenty four hours after the fight in Egypt, it was time for the leadership of the Domination to meet and discuss the events, their significance, and what had to be done. Around him were the Heads of the various Directorates, the commanders of the Space Force and Army, representatives of the Tesla and Faraday Combines, and a single civilian flown in from Alexandria, where he headed the Egyptology department. All had read the reports from the Space Force and Centurion Makkonen, and all knew they had more questions than answers. They were alone in the room, with armed guards outside and the best anti-eavesdropping equipment of the Domination operating. No minor staff or serfs were present, as today's subject was a matter of utmost secrecy.

"Gentlemen and ladies" started Schrakenberg, "I would first like to thank you for coming here at such short notice... but as you certainly gathered from the file, the matter on hand is of extreme importance. Yesterday, a space craft of alien origin appeared in Martian orbit, without any prior detection, then proceeded to Earth. As it wasn't responding to any of our radio hails, the duty commander on the command station _Eagle Eye_ ordered our orbital assets to fire and try boarding it. Answering fire crippled _Falchion_ before the enemy guns fell silent. The ship apparently self-destructed even as our teams were boarding it, and we didn't witness any evacuation or lifeboat launch." The SF commander winced at the recollection, she'd lost three of her orbital assault teams, all citizen. "However, our sensors picked up a beam of energy traveling from the alien ship to a ground location in Egypt, 150 kilometers from Cairo. Subsequent ground penetrating radar scans showed a buried structure there, and a RRF company was tasked with investigating it with orbital weapon support. This is covered in Centurion Makkonen's report. Now, what we found inside was puzzling. I'll leave our resident expert on ancient Egyptian civilization share his findings." Heads turned towards the fifty-ish man, dressed in conservative clothes for a Draka, subdued colors and simple cut, a single bronze earring, a tanned grooved face that spoke of days spent in the scorching desert sun and blonde hair in a shoulder length braid, now interspersed with not a few grey strands. His bearing was calm, but his eyes shone in excitement. "Doctor Jackson, if yo' would be so kind...?"

The man leaned forward and folded his hands.

"Thank you, Archon. Now, when I received an urgent call from Strategos Venders of the Rapid Reaction Force during a lecture, I must say that I was slightly surprised" he said smiling, drawing a few chuckles in return. "Even more when he told me I'd have to provide real-time commentary for the benefit of Centurion Makkonen during his assault on a buried Egyptian temple. At first, I thought we were now trying to put ancient mummies under the Yoke -" more chuckles "-then he told me about the whole affair, after making me swear secrecy. Anyway – here I was in a small room in a the Alexandria Force base with a vid link to Centurion Makkonen, watching as his... ghouloons stormed in a forgotten temple and teared strips of alien invaders flesh in the process." Chuckles turned into predatory smiles around the table. "From what I could see and hear, those aliens were human in appearance, and spoke a language that immediately struck me as a derivative of Archaic Egyptian. Not all was understandable, but I definitely gathered that the aliens referred to their leader as a god." He paused a moment, letting the fact sink in.

"Yo' mean someone has even more of a superiority complex than we do ?" quipped the Faraday representative, which gained him a venomous glance from the Security Directorate Strategos seated across the table, even as others tried very hard to hide their amusement.

"Indeed, and ah'm fairly sure those warriors were sum kind o' slaves as well" answered Jackson in his light Alexandrian accent.

"Interesting" observed the SD chief, "yet, Doctor... Daniel Jackson, do yo' have an idea why invaders from outer space would look human, speak a human language an' land in a buried Egyptian temple nobody set foot in for thousands of years ?"

"Well, I have a theory..." _actually, I had it long before yesterday's events, but wisely kept it for myself all that time_, he didn't say "it is that ancient Earth civilizations like Egypt or the Precolumbian cultures were influenced in their infancy by alien visitors", it was a testimony to the magnitude of the previous day's discovery that the others didn't laugh in his face "and that those aliens, ah, _transported_ humans to other planets a long time ago to serve as servants and soldiers."

"What yo' intend to say is that those... aliens... are our interstellar equivalent ?"

"It certainly appears so, Strategos... although I'd dare say that those "Jaffa" warriors of theirs are nowhere near as effective as our own Janissaries or Ghouloons. But that is a matter for the military to comment on."

"What about the corpse found in one of the temple's chambers ?"

"I wasn't able to do more than a cursory inspection, but if I were to believe the inscriptions and regalia found near and on the body, it would be the god Ra. Now, I know it sounds preposterous, but it kinda makes sense if my theory's correct. Anyway, I'll be able to tell yo' more once I've got time to study the whole place in depth." the doctor concluded.

"Thank yo' most for your report, Doctor." The Archon turned towards the Army chief of staff. "Strategos Karls... your take on the events ?"

The heavily muscled and lethal-looking man in a dress uniform covered in decorations took a breath and addressed the conference.

"Archon, sirs and ladies, first I want to commend Centurion Makkonen for his performance. He managed to take the facility as intact as possible, including the pieces of advanced alien technology inside. Now, the force he fought cannot be taken as representative of the invaders' full might. Still, our ghouloons shock troops gave a really good account of themselves. Our infantry rifle was lethal, easily piercing enemy body armor. On the flip side, the enemy weapon, which shoots bolts of energy, plasma from what the experts say, had trouble burning through our infantry cermet plate, which acted effectively as ablative armor. And when it did, it only proved the resilience of ghouloon physiology as several soldiers managed to close with and dispatch invaders in hand-to-hand after suffering repeated mortal injuries. I have to praise the Bioscience section for their accomplishment here" he paused, looking at the Science Directorate representative.

She smiled and he continued : "Our first trials with captured alien weapons yielded conclusions that frankly puzzle us. Those long staves are really unwieldy and hard to aim. They might double as decent close-combat weapons, but I'd rather have a strong bayonet or better, a sharpened shovel" he grinned. "As for stopping power, they're lethal against unarmored humans" this particular observation had only necessitated the death of three unlucky Alliance POWs, "but not, as I said, against our cermet infantry armor... On the plus side, it appears that whatever power source they use is practically unlimited. We've been firing one of them continually for a day now and it's showing no sign of exhaustion." Everyone around he table looked highly interested, the Science Directorate egghead was almost drooling. "The second weapon we recovered can be construed as their side arm. It looks, as you can see in the files, like a snake uncoiling when activated, and it has very interesting properties. When used on test subjects" more unlucky POWs, "the first shot acts like a neural whip, rendering the target unconscious for a time measured in minutes. But if you fire a second shot straight away, it actually overloads the subject's brain and fries it. Unfortunately, it's a short range weapon. There's also a stun grenade which was a lot of fun to try but not really much of an improvement ovah' our own. Anyway, that's all I have to report for the time being" he finished before taking a sip of water.

"Fair enough, Strategos. Now if your colleague from the Space Force would offer her own preliminary impressions ?"

"With pleasure, Archon Schrakenberg" replied the hard-edged, raven-haired female in the midnight black uniform. "Those aliens might be laughable on the ground, but frankly we were lucky in space. I know it looked like a clear victory, even allowing for our own losses, but that'd be a false impression. Visual observation shows that this vessel was already heavily damaged when we engaged it. And while our lasers were effective, I'm fairly sure that an intact ship would have been much more resilient. As for its weapons, they look like bigger versions of those infantry staff guns and they pack quite a punch. Honestly, had this thing been fully operational, I'm afraid it would have rolled all over us, especially with the maneuverability advantage of their reaction-less drive."

"Oh yes, that is unbelievable, such a pity that you couldn't take this ship intact..." interjected the Science Directorate woman before blushing "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt yo' or denigrate yo' efforts"

"That's all right Ma'am, and I was finished anyway. Yo' could tell us what yo' people found by now, if the Archon doesn't mind ?" Schrakenberg nodded.

The civilian woman looked briefly at her notes and started.

"Ah, as I just said, the technology we've witnessed is nothing short of wondrous. Ah' mean, reaction-less drives ? Artificial gravity ? Faster-than-light travel certainly ? Practical plasma weapons ? If only we coulda' taken this vessel... but yeah, it's understandable that they had sum kind of self-destruct mechanism just so we couldn't capture it. Doesn't make it less disappointing... The ground assault was more successful at leaving intact technology to examine though. Uh... those weapons of them, Strategos Karls already mentioned the facts so I won't repeat. But I do have some interesting facts about the aliens themselves, we've been doing thorough autopsies on them. Those soldiers, they are human, albeit modified. Apart from the genetic drift you'd expect to find, they're also genetically enhanced for more strength and resistance albeit not to the degree of our New Race program. And what we found in their bodies... well it's really weird. They've got a womb-like pouch in their abdomen that acts as a incubator for a snake-like organism. We recovered enough specimens in different stages of development to draw some conclusions. Apparently, there's a symbiotic relationship between the two species. Those warrior-soldiers act as living incubators for the young, snakes for a lack of better word, although they only look like snakes, yo' know, totally different species... I'll call 'em symbiotes as of now, and that "Ra" we found in the chamber had one too, except it was located around his spinal cord."

Seeing the puzzlement on the others' faces, she explained. "It was apparently the mature form, and the tissues were intact enough in their mummified state that we could draw some very interesting deductions." She took a dramatic pose. "We believe that the mature symbiote can latch onto the human nervous system and control the host, like a puppeteer."

"That makes it a serious security threat !" threw in the SD officer. "They could even be among us and we wouldn't know it !"

"Indeed, Strategos, but fortunately they'd be easy to detect even with our basic battlefield medscans, now that we know what to look for. And I'd recommend testing every personnel in the various Directorates and in the Forces" This mollified the headhunter, and she continued. "So basically, we're facing an advanced alien species of snake-like parasites that think of themselves as gods and use humans as tools, hosts and soldiers. I'm sure the damnyanks would find it funny."

The Archon smiled imperceptibly, recalling his last conversation with General Lafarge, the last surviving Alliance leader and commander of the New America. _I wonder indeed what he would make of it, were he still around_, he thought. "What can you tell us about the ring-like device found in the temple, Miss Jacobson ?"

"Oh yes... that's the cherry on the cake if I may say, totally alien... unknown material, an ultra-heavy element never found before, and it makes our physics and chemistry experts lose their wits. It appears to be a different form of the energetic material powering their weapons, though. We're quite wary of experimenting with it, not until we find an adequately remote site to test it, ah, exhaustively. As to the practical use of the ring, as the last aliens seemed to vanish through its powered state, we can only presume that it's a kind of transporter. To where we're not quite sure yet, but my bet would be on somewhere really far away. Again, I want to stress that we'll need specialized facilities to properly test it"

"Thank you all," resumed Schrakenberg. "Those aliens are obviously a threat, as they have technology superior to ours, and we have damn little intel about them. They came from nowhere into our system and left to who-knows-where. By the White Christ, they could come back tomorrow to glass our planets ! We have precious few resources to spare with the reconstruction and pacification efforts going on, but we can't sit and do nothing. Strategos Schneider, as commander of the Space Force, I task you to set up a dedicated facility to research the alien technology, with full support from the Science and Production Directorates. They will give you the priority on every resource, and the Combines will contribute their best experts as well" the Faraday and Tesla representatives nodded firmly, their heads already churning with designs of super-weapons and intergalactic starships. "I want a weekly report at least on your progress – and there better _be_ progress, I don't need to elaborate on the likely consequences of failure."

Training his ice-blue gaze on the SD woman, he added : "Strategos Rosenberg, we cannot expect to keep yesterday's events hidden from the Citizen population, therefore my staff will prepare a public statement. However, the research facility will be covered by the utmost secrecy. I expect you to guarantee it." "We will, Archon Schrakenberg !" replied Anya Rosenberg with a tone of definite certainty.

"Good, only thing left is a name for this endeavor. As the science types think, with reason from my own point of view, that this ring object is a portal to places beyond our solar system, I hereby name it the Stargate Project. This meeting is adjourned." he finished.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 : Fangs are bared**

**Colorado, Former North America**

**15th May 2010**

"Stupid ferals" spat the man in the bloodstained battle suit. It wasn't his blood, but that of three enemy soldiers who, trapped in the surrounded farmhouse, had tried to rush him when he'd entered the ruined barn-house. Those Rangers had once been the cream of the Alliance for Democracy's ground forces, but they were no match for the New Race. They were now laying around him like broken dolls, their limbs splayed in unnatural angles, blood gushing from slashed or torn open arteries pooling around them and seeping into the hard-packed dirt soil. The Draka officer cleaned his bayonet with a bundle of hay before sliding the lethal composite layered blade in the sheath on his chest webbing. It had been a surprise – the whole compound had supposedly been cleared out – but nevertheless a good workout. He recalled in his mind the horrified faces of the Yank soldiers as he effortlessly evaded their strike before closing in and dispatching them one by one. It had only taken three seconds, so hopelessly outclassed as they were.

He strode out to the farmyard where a terrified family was kneeling, sobbing and held at gun-point by a squad of Drakan soldiers.

"Well well, Tetrarch, what do we have here..." he asked the subordinate standing at attention.

"Sir, a Yank family of five. Mother, two boys and a daughter. Father's unaccounted for, must have run to the hills with some of those Alliance soldiers. The ghouloons are already trying to find a trace, but they're good at covering their tracks"

"Must be that nest of guerillas operating in the area. They've been causing enough mischief around" growled the Cohortarch. He'd lost two men and a squad of Ghouloons the previous day when an IED had blown their recon aircar. He gazed cruelly at the prisoners, one by one. He remarked that the mother held her eyes defiantly up. A typical farmer's wife, hay-blond hair and features that had been pleasant but were now marked by years of toil and the burden of raising children away from town. The small boy at her side was sniffing, two red welts on his cheeks where the gloved hand of a soldier had expressed a rough "shut up" message. His older brother, an angry-looking teenager, was staying silent and glaring murderously at the snickering soldiers. The daughter...

"Well, this wench-here doesn't look half unpleasant, a bit on the plump side maybe, still, Ah' reckon she'd make for a good bed-warmer, what'd yo' think Tetrarch ?" he chuckled.

"You murderous heathen bastard !" shrieked the mother "Don't you dare touch my daughter or -" "Or what ? Yo'll kill me ? Silly woman !" the Draka snorted and slapped her. "You stinking peasants thought your precious little _democracy_" he spat the word "would protect yo ? I'll tell yo', yo' have no purpose on this world but to serve the Race ! Time fo' ya to get it back in yo' mind like those revolutionary upstart did, back in Europe !" Hate for egalitarian democracy had been carefully maintained in Cohortach Anton de Polignac's bloodline even since his ancestors had left France precipitously during the French Revolution. His own grandfather had had the pleasure of smashing the French Republic's symbols when the victorious Drakan army had swarmed all of Western Europe, after the last German forces were shattered by atomic bombs in the closing days of the Eurasian War. Now he was forcibly putting the last democrats under the Yoke. How fitting that was.

He continued, in a conversational tone. "Now I'm sure yo' know where your husband is, wench. Tell me and yo' pretty children won't suffer. Heck, I'll make sure the girl's assigned to my quarters !" The woman spat on his boot and snarled "I'd rather die, you snake !"

"Yes, I'm sure you would. But death isn't the worst I have to offer yo'... Lemme see... Soldiers, take this buck here and castrate him !" he ordered, pointing at the angry teenager, who tried to bolt away, to be immediately tripped by a well-placed armored leg. He fell on his belly and was instantly pinned in place by iron-strong hands on his wrists and ankles, holding him in a cross position. The Tetrarch walked up to him and bent, knife in his hand, using it to expertly cut away the young man's pants and undies. He smacked the firm flesh, laughing. "Ha, look at this nice pretty buck. I'm sure he'd command a good price in one of the brothels back in Istanbul" the old Ottoman capital was famed in the whole Domination for its, hem, pederastic pleasure houses. "Too bad to cut those, but he could pass for a wench then... I've been told that some rich old Citizens pay good Aurics for quality transvestites" he chortled, drawing guffaws from the soldiers. Then he grabbed the boy's genitals and put his knife in position to cut them off, paused and looked at his commander. Polignac looked at the mother coldly. "So, will yo' speak or not ? It's really equal to me, we'll find those ferals sooner or later anyway, but if yo' tell me where to find 'em, I'll make sure yo' husband dies a quick death" he delivered in an unconcerned tone.

The woman was desperately trying to think of an proper answer, one that would protect her husband and son, her mind clouded by hate, fear and the effects of the Draka's domination pheromones. She nevertheless steeled herself and remained stubbornly silent, looking at the dirt before her.

"No answer ? All right then... Tetrarch, do it"

The soldiers hadn't cared to gag the splayed teenager, and an ear-splitting scream pierced the cold air, sounding very much like a pig being slaughtered. Blood gushed out between his thighs, his mouth biting into the hard earth to stop screaming. The butcher stood up, a bloody bundle in his hand, and shouted a call. "Gorbal ! Come here, now !"

The prisoners eyes widened in dismay as they saw one of the beastly ghouloons come at a run, its repulsive brutal face under the raised visor displaying a huge toothy grin as it took in the scent of human blood. "Good Gorbal, always quick obeying orders eh ?" smiled the Draka officer. "Yes Master, Gorbal good, Gorbal obey Master, Gorbal kill damnyanks !" it growled. "Oh yes, yo'h a good boy, here's a treat fo' yo' " The Tetrarch tossed the slick bloody packet and the ghouloon snatched it from the air, sniffed it then chucked it whole in its maw, tearing the tender flesh with its oversized canines. It then swallowed it with an air of contentment, and looked at the officer with an air of adoration who barely had anything to do with the dominance pheromones. "Master kind with Gorbal, Master give Gorbal good meat, more ?" "Hah, yo're one hungry beast ain't yo' Gorbal ? No more for now... but stay here, we haven't finished our business with those here-ferals". The ghouloon saluted and sat back on its haunches, waiting expectantly.

Polignac returned his gaze to the teary-eyed mother, mouth agape, shocked beyond recognition by her son's ordeal. He ground out "Now do yo' want yo' boy to bleed to death, followed by your wee one here ? Gorbal does seem hungry and this little buck would make a nice lunch, just so y'know !"

The woman stammered "G... God please, stop this, I'll tell you where the men are, please, if you promise you won't hurt my husband, please, sir !" "It's Master for yo', wench, and I won't hurt yo' husband, now tell me where !" "Up the hills to the west, they're in the old mine at the end of the valley... Master" she sobbed, her will broken by her treason.

The Cohortarch straightened up and spoke in his communicator. "Mamba to Scimitar, come ovah" The voice of Scimitar Orbital Battlestation's Fire Control Officer came back on the link. "Scimitar to Mamba, go ahead" "Mamba has probable location for feral den, approx twelve klicks west of current position, an old mine at the valley's end" "Received Mamba, an old mine ten klicks west of your position, stand-by for IR and radar confirmation, Scimitar" "Roger Scimitar, Mamba out"

Ten minutes later, the farmer family was bound and sitting on the ground, the mother still weeping. The gelded teenager was mercifully unconscious, drugged by anesthetics while the tetrarchy's medic had cleaned and closed the wound. The mother had talked, after all, and Drakas, ruthless as they were, always kept their word. On the other hand, Polignac had only promised that _he_ wouldn't hurt the fugitive farmer...

"Scimitar to Mamba" the voice came back on the communicator. "Sending imagery for confirmation". A composite of infrared pictures and ground penetrating radar schematics appeared on the Cohortach's taccomp. A shaft was clearly visible descending in the hill's rock, and infrared traces lingered around. Either the guerillas were getting sloppy, or they were becoming desperate, hunted and having to settle for inferior positions. Anyway, it was good enough. "Mamba to Scimitar, confirm guerilla facility, kinetic strike authorized, repeat, kinetic strike authorized, Mamba" "Kinetic strike authorized, release in ten, Scimitar"

_Those ferals are dead, they just don't know it yet_, mused Polignac.

"Kinetic penetrator released, impact in one minute, enjoy the fireworks Mamba, Scimitar out" the controller announced.

Only thing left was watch, and the Drakas gazed up the sky, waiting for the tell-tale ionization trail to appear over the horizon. Fired from the battlestation in orbit, the steel cored rod with a tungsten thermal coating (it had been decided to stop using depleted uranium years ago out of environmental concerns) would shed its ablative shield during its blazing reentry and strike its target at Mach 12 with power equivalent to a small nuke, sending shock waves into the ground and collapsing any natural or artificial cavity.

It happened very fast, the incandescent trail arced down and a glowing streak, almost a solid line, arrowed into the ground followed by a thunderclap. A fireball erupted, then the rushing overpressure washed on the braced soldiers and the howling squatting prisoners. They faintly felt the ground shock wave through their thick soles, and the Tetrarch shouted among the yells of the soldiers "By Wotan and the White Christ, I fecking love this !" with a giant smile on his face. "Yeah, that was a close one, a real good blast" answered Polignac. "Bet the ferals won't give us any trouble in this sector now".

His sensitive ears picked another sound approaching, the faint whine of an aircar's turbine. He turned in the noise's direction and squinted. He made out the shape of a staff car, the kind used by military brass to travel in style. _Curious, I wonder who feels the need to come check our work up close_.

The sleek gleaming black shape settled on the ground 20 meters away, its powerful thrusters lifting a billowing cloud of dust. As the turbines' whine wound down, the side door opened up and two faceless armored soldiers stepped out, rifles at the ready, and scanned their surroundings. Satisfied, one of them spoke a command, and an instant later a tall woman in a Navy uniform climbed out of the car. Polignac recognized at once Arch-Strategos Deirdre Schneider. What was the head of the Space Force doing here ? he wondered. He came to attention and saluted.

"Service to the State !"

"Glory to the Race ! At ease Cohortarch. This was a pretty explosion you made, my aircar got slightly buffeted."

Polignac made his best approximation of a contrite face, and Schneider laughed. "Don't yo' worry, Scimitar warned me first. And it's good to see we weren't wasting Aurics with those rods. Anyway, that's not why I'm here".

The male officer cocked his brow.

"You and your unit did very good work to pacify the new territories. This reflects in your being a Cohortarch at barely 34 and the string of medals and citations on your record. I checked your file, and you strike me as the ideal person for the kind of job I have to offer."

"Ma'am, with all respect, my job here ain't quite finished yet, there are still pockets o' ferals hiding out and blowing stuff" he said.

"Indeed there are, Cohortarch de Polignac, but someone else can take care of it. I'm offering yo' the challenge of yo' life – one that the future of the Race might depend on" she added with a crooked smile.

"Yo definitely have me intrigued, Arch-Strategos. May I ask what it is ?"

"Yo may, an' yo'll learn of it, but not here. Secrecy an' all that. Sorry fo' yo, Tetrarch" she quipped to the other officer standing a step back. "But yo' due for advancement too" she offered as consolation. "So, Cohortarch, yo'll have to come with me. I already gave the necessary orders for yo' personal things to be collected." She caught him gazing at the farmer's daughter. "Now, yo' won't need _that_... plenty more wenches where we goin'. But of course yo' can take her, if you want to".

"I wish so, she's my prize after all... aren't yo', wench ?" The girl looked with incredulous eyes, then the mother bolted in a maddened fury, teeth bare and mouth foaming, bound hands tugging desperately at the restraints. She jumped forward, intent on ripping flesh off the monster's face, then she hit a steel wall. She stumbled back, head ringing, eyes full of dancing lights, her nose smashed into a pulp, and looked incredulously as the Draka's fist retracted in a blur, as fast as it had appeared in front of her, and reappeared almost instantly holding a Tolgren handgun pointed at her head.

"Now that wasn't very reasonable, serf... Yo were property of the Race, an' yo' resisted. That makes yo' a rebel... and punishable as one. Still, I'll be merciful and spare yo' impalement in front o' yo' little ones" he told her, the gun pointing straight between her wide open eyes. She opened her mouth, but he didn't leave her time to say anything, squeezing the trigger. A "crack" and the back of her skull shattered outwards, spraying blood, bone fragments and brain matter on her terrorized children, too petrify to even scream, not believing the ghastly hopeless scene their own eyes had registered.

The body slumped boneless at the Draka's feet. He spoke to the prisoners : "That is the price of rebellion, _serfs_ _!_ Watch and remember. I didn't like it, and I'd rather not have to execute yo' as well. Yo're the property of the Race, obey and yo'll be okay. Try to resist..." he left it unspoken, the consequences clearly visible to all.

Deirdre Schneider spoke at last :

"Tetrarch, I'll let yo' arrange the serfs' transport for processing. Make sure this here-wench is marked for shipping to Cohortarch de Polignac. We'll be going, and again, good hunting."

The remaining soldiers watched as the aircar lifted off.

"I sure wonder what the Cohortarch got hisself into" one of them said.

"Not our business anymore... and besides, we got serfs to take care off." On those words, they turned back to the matters at hand.

In the vehicle, the Draka officer and his superior sat in the comfortable rear compartment, separated from the pilot and the bodyguards by an armored glass partition.

"Cohortarch, your smearing blood all over the upholstery" remarked Schneider.

"I'm afraid I can't help it, Arch-Strategos. I had some bloody business back there,"

"Never mind, my serfs will clean it." She handed him a perscomp. "In the meantime, you can start getting acquainted with your new mission".

Anton took the proffered device and started reading. As he browsed through the material, Deirdre could see the leaf-green eyes widening over the high cheekbones that were an attribute of the New Race. Ten minutes after, he raised his face and softly whistled, looking at the female officer.

"Ma'am, this is barely believable, with all due respect"

"I assure yo', this ain't High Command's idea of a practical joke. And yo' already finished reading this hundred-page long report ?" she inquired.

"Us Drakensis are fast learner, eidetic memory and all. Still... if that is true, and I have to believe it is, it's the biggest discovery since..." he trailed.

"Since the cracking of the atom ? The unraveling of our DNA ? Yes, Cohortarch. Care to guess what your role will be in this ?"

"Go through this "stargate" whenever we've found how it works, then kill or enserf everything I'll find on the other side ?" he half-joked, which drew a chuckle from Schneider.

"Something like that, Cohortarch... although, we'll have to play it cautiously at first. We really don't know what's waiting for us out there. If we're unlucky, we might wake up one day and find that "Death Star" from that stupidly funny Yank vid staring at us from lunar orbit !"

They both laughed, then Anton added more seriously : "So I take it my role will be more like reconnaissance and assessment of our new enemy's capacity."

"That, and possibly first contact with whoever we'll meet – provided they aren't outright hostile of course. And I'll stress that we're not going to run around, blow stuff up, and attract unwanted attention, at least not until we got a good strategic picture. I've got this feeling that we're small fry in this galaxy... but we won't remain so for long !"

Two hours later, they were both seated in a hypersonic transport headed for the laser lift-off facility in Lagos, one of the precious few that had survived the Final War and currently formed the bulk of Drakan orbital lift capacity. The scramjet was tearing through the thin air of the stratosphere at Mach 7, and the passengers could distinctly see Earth's curvature and the polar icecap covering Europe down to the middle of England. The island was now thoroughly depopulated, the new Ice Age having finished the job started by the Final War and the self-nuking of London. _So much death and destruction_, mused Schneider. _I hope it's not a harbinger of things to come..._

Her reflexions were interrupted by Anton.

"So I was wondering, how is this... project going to be organized ?"

"You and the team you'll lead will be part of a distinct force based in a secret fortified facility on Luna, under the overall command of the Space Force - hence why _I_ was the one coming for you, and not Strategos Karls – with supporting teams from the Science Directorate and select experts from the industrial combines. The problem is, we don't know what to expect, so we haven't set on a definitive table of organization. We've already preselected elements from our best forces – Airborne, Commandos – that you'll be able to pick and choose to setup exploration teams. We also plan on having a ghouloon shock unit for heavy infantry support, and if need be, we'll draw from the units on Luna" she explained.

'Any armor or vehicles ?" he enquired.

"Unfortunately, the dimension of the stargate preclude anything bigger than a Cheetah recon car to fit, certainly not a gunship, although tracked vehicles might be possible. You will also have civilian experts -" at the mention of the word "civilians', she saw Anton frown. "They're _Drakas_ and therefore able to pull their weight in a fight, and anyway, you're not supposed to jump into firefights right away" she saw a hint of disappointment flash in the green eyes "don't make those puppy eyes at me, Cohortarch ! I'm sure you'll find enough excitement in your task !".

The male Draka's eyes twinkled. "And who will those experts be ?"

"Here are the personal files on the selected names. You'll receive a list of possible replacements, of course, but I'm confident those are the best."

She called the relevant folder on her perscomp and handed it to Polignac, who took it and scanned the first file.

"Doctor Daniel Jackson ? I know him... read his book on race relations in Ancient Egypt. Very interesting. And he's been in this from the beginning ; I believe he made good progress on translating the inscriptions in the temple... Ah, military service in the Airborne during the Indian conquest... that's good, I suppose he kept in shape..."

"As well as a university professor would. Saw him in Archona, he won't be a drag."

"Next..."

**Chingtoku, Lord Yu's Subject Systems**

**Earth date 14th May 2010**

Karl'ac opened his eyes. Or rather, his host body's, which he had just finished repairing after suffering two vicious wounds upon leaving (he didn't quite demean himself to think "fleeing") the Tau'ri planet. Those wounds had certainly been caused by the brutes' projectile weapons, as the flesh hadn't been cooked as was the case with a staff weapon, but instead torn away by small but wickedly fast metallic shards. It had truly been a bitch mending the mess without a sarcophagus (which he never had anyway, even before the series of unfortunate event that led him to the current predicament). As it was, he'd have to avoid exertions for a few days. He could probably find a new host altogether, but he'd really miss the current one's... unusually large endowment.

He looked around. The crude bed he was laying on, in a crude mudpacked hut. A hard dirt ground with a rough straw mat. He sat and sighed. He spotted his garment neatly folded on a low wooden stool, and started to pull it on. It had been washed at least, and a small patch covered the entry holes. Still, it wasn't a proper cloth for a God to wear... but he'd have to make do for the time being. Until he got back to civilized surroundings.

He walked to the coarse wooden door, opened it and stepped outside, blinking. It was raining. Mud was everywhere, muddy ground, muddy huts, muddy... peasants, now frozen in place as they caught sight of a God, and the pair of Jaffas posted as guards were caked in it. He looked at them, now standing to attention, and stifled a groan.

_Not that... not this one ! By the prime river, what did I do to deserve this ?_ He was staring at the dumb face of the eager Jaffa. He shivered inwardly. _Thor's balls, I hope he's not the one who undressed me._ _I thought I'd gotten rid of him back on this cursed planet._

He flashed his eyes and used his deepest command voice : "Jaffa-what's-your-name ?"

"Name's Bald'rik, Milord !". Again that stupid look. "Right, Bald'rick, go fetch Chu'rel. Right now !". "Kree !" The warrior turned away and ran toward a low building, probably the town hall or something. Whatever the locals congregated in to worship their god. Karl'ac then whirled to face the handful of peasant... women ? Men ? Impossible to tell, they were all crooked, wrinkled and ugly. _Like their master Yu_, he thought maliciously. He addressed them.

"Slaves ! I am a God, the God Karl'ac, a friend and ally of Lord Yu ! I am honoring you worthless peasants with my presence !" He pointed to the creature wearing the cleanest rags. "You ! Bring me a tub of hot water !" He flashed his eyes and the wretch scampered away, clutching her basket. "Stop ! What's in this basket ?" The old hag retraced her steps reluctantly, presented the wicker container, and opened a toothless mouth covered with scraggly grey hairs. "It is bread, my Lord, fresh and soft !" she cackled. Karl'ac picked a small loaf and started nibbling at it. It was quite tasty and undeniably soft. His contentment showed, and the crone helpfully added, lips split in her most charming smile : "I kneaded the dough on my thighs, my Lord !"

Karl'ac nearly strangled himself.

He quickly regained his composure (he had to act like an unflappable god, after all) and waved the woman away, keeping the basket. He was hungry, and he'd been ready to eat his Jaffas before. He saw Chu'rel exit the village hall and jog towards him, splashing mud at every step. The First Prime glided to a stop and saluted, fist on his chest.

"You called for me, my Lord !"

"I did, and now you can tell me why I woke up in a miserable peasant hut instead of a proper palace."

"My Lord, it was the best I could find close to the Chappai. At least we were not in danger any more. The brutes did not pursue us through the portal."

"Good. Then gather all my Jaffas, we're leaving this stinking place."

An hour minutes later, they reached the Gate, set on its raised pedestal in the middle of rice paddies. They'd slogged the whole journey through an endless ocean of slush, flooded rice fields stretching from one horizon to another. No wonder this was one of Yu's worlds. With rice balls as the standard ration of his Jaffas, it had to take planets like this to feed his mighty armies. All in all, a world best forgotten.

He paused in front of the dialing panel. Last he knew, Yu's court wasn't on a planet, but in a palace in orbit over a gas giant. The gate itself was located in a separate space station to prevent sneak attacks. What was the address again... ah. He dialed it and the Chappai activated. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the blue surface with his Jaffas in tow.

A few seconds and thousands of light-years later, he stepped out in a richly decorated room, right in the face of a dozen staff guns ready to fire and crackling with energy.

_Well, Yu doesn't take any chances,_ he thought instantly.

As his Jaffas started to exit the Chappai, he addressed Yu's warriors.

"Jaffas ! I am Lord Karl'ac, a friend and ally of your glorious God Yu ! I come in peace to meet him !".

They kept their weapons leveled, but he could see them relaxing minutely. Then, their officer took a personal communicator and spoke a few words. The answer had to be positive, as he ordered his men to lower their weapons, then addressed Karl'ac.

"Lord, I've been instructed to let you pass. It seems that Lord Yu would deign to meet you. But your Jaffas will remain here" he warned.

"Lead me on, then ! Chu'rel, stay here and wait for my word." "Kree, my Lord !"

Yu's officer led him through a maze of corridors decorated not in the traditional Ra-inspired style (that is, Egyptian hieroglyphs), but in Yu's own imperial ideograms and motifs. The walls were still gold-plated, but the light fixtures had a red tinge to them. It felt alien. Of all the System Lords, Yu was probably the most culturally distinct. Even his Jaffas shared common traits, round faces and slanted eyes like their master.

They reached another room, round shaped with a large viewport in the far wall. The gas giant and its reddish rolling clouds were filling it. No doubt this was destined to impress Yu's visitors. The Jaffa officer motioned for him to stand in the middle of the chamber where the ring transporter was located, then strode to the control panel and activated the device. Karl'ac saw the ring envelop him in a blinding haze of light, then he re-materialized in a similar room. A pair of Jaffas were there to escort him, and they wordlessly led him through another maze of corridors towards a small but lavishly decorated bedroom and left him there, still without a word.

_Well, I guess Yu isn't in a hurry to see me_, thought Karl'ac. _Must have bigger fish to fry_.

At least he could rest properly. There was even food on the finely chiseled mahogany table, and he set to devouring it. Later, as nobody came, he simply laid down on the provided bed and went to a resting sleep, under the large viewport gazing out at the stars.

The following morning held a pleasant surprise. He woke up to a lilting female voice wishing him a welcome day, and when he opened his eyes, he saw one of Yu's servants kneeling next to his bed, a golden plate of fruits held in her proffered hands and demurely keeping her gaze low.

_At last, civilization !_ Then his yes caught a more detailed sight of the servant's appearance. She was... young, unblemished porcelain skin, pale blue eyes slightly slanted, a red-painted small sensual mouth, silky smooth black hair... _By Ra, this old bastard knows how to choose his slaves !_ His gaze traveled down to the slender limbed body whose curves could be guessed under the light gauzy fabric.

Karl'ac felt his control over part of his host body slip.

Business could wait.

Two hours later, the servant scurried out of his quarters, disheveled and walking with what Tau'ris called a "cowboy gait", not that any of the beings present knew that.

Back in the room, Karl'ac stretched contently. Oh yes, Yu's hospitality wasn't over-evaluated. He sat up and attacked the food. As he was eating a lychee, the two same Jaffas appeared at the door. They could have knocked or announced their presence otherwise, how rude of them ! They didn't offer a single word and instead waited there, obviously waiting for him to finish. He did, taking his time, then stood up. They bent their heads fractionally, turned around and started back. Karl'ac followed a few paces behind, cogs turning in his head. They walked past other warriors standing guard in the hallways, and as they neared the center of the palace the bustle increased, servants running errands, Jaffas patrolling and minor Goaul'ds doing their best busy impression.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a large double door, each magnificent half-panel glittering with golden motifs inlaid around Yu's symbol. The gate was closed, and guarded by two fierce looking Jaffas of Yu's personal bodyguard in their distinctive black and red armor, which had been copied from Anubis' feared Kull Warriors.

The smooth composite plates on Yu's version were however richly decorated with golden dragon incrustations and flowing decorative elements. The helmets were currently retracted, but Karl'ac knew they deployed in the shape of a dragon's head complete with oversized canines. The guards were heavily armed. Added to their integrated wrist blasters, two trinium short swords were crossed on their back sheaths, another marvel of Yu's research department. Once activated, those swords projected a blade-hugging forcefield one molecule thick, which made them able to cut through almost any material.

The guards also had two zat'nik'tels in hip holsters, shock grenades and their main weapon, a thickened and shortened staff gun. Its firepower had been boosted almost to the level of an infantry staff cannon, and the opposite end housed a foot-long retractable thin and wickedly sharp blade, able to stab through Jaffa mail and the soft part of Kull armor with ease. It also sported practical molded handholds that made it easier to aim than the unwieldy standard staff.

All in all, Yu's guards were fearsome warriors. They'd been sorely needed to stop the tide of Anubis' abject creations and fight the dark Lord to a stand-still. It was a testament to the level of threat he posed to the other Goaul'ds that Yu had trusted Jaffas, even his fanatically loyal ones, with such deadly implements of war. Apophis, his main partner in the Alliance, had eschewed any such Jaffa upgrades, and it was widely murmured that he didn't quite trust his warriors as much.

Karl'ac's presence was nonetheless expected, and the guards didn't dice him into tiny chops. Instead, they opened the door and stepped aside, then beckoned him to march forward, leaving his mute escorts behind.

It wasn't a throne room as he'd expected, but a medium sized room that Yu obviously used to command and coordinate his armies. The decorating was subdued as well as the lightning, as a large hologram stood in the center displaying a view of the galaxy. Karl'ac's eye recognized the rough outline of the Allied Goaul'd territories in red, intersecting in various places with the malicious yellow of Anubis' conquests. Secondary viewscreens on the walls displayed other relevant information. Karl'ac stood agape for a few seconds. Such a design was... unusual. More innovation brought by the war. Where would it stop ?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his name being spoken. Turning to where the sound had come from, he spotted another Goaul'd, one of Yu's inner circle of vassals, smirking and standing a few paces on his left.

"Ah, Karl'ac... Nirrti did not claim your worthless hide, then ?"

He bristled at the insult, but kept his control and replied with an even voice : "I'm afraid the rumors of my demise have been exaggerated, Dhakhan. But then, I was actually fighting Anubis' lieutenants and not merely basking in the safety of Lord Yu's palace".

The dark-skinned, broad-nosed Goauld's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Beware, Karl'ac, as the mighty Lord Yu doesn't take kindly to failure ! You may well have come only to meet a deserved punishment !"

"That will be for him to decide, now, won't it ? Not a flunky in a loincloth like you !" Karl'ac replied in a tone dripping with contempt. The other Goaul'd opened his mouth to reply, when a loud "Enough !" cut their verbal exchange short. They both turned around and froze. Standing there was Yu's partner and second-in-command, the goddess Chuang-Mu, whose prerogatives also included the selection of the palace's... most hospitable servants.

Her appearance was every bit mesmerizing as well, and Karl'ac's mind was vividly reminded of this morning's earlier delights. He had to refrain himself from ogling at the firm breasts pointing through the thin silk fabric of the dress hugging every contour of her body, or at the shapely leg revealed by the side slit going all the way up to her hip. It didn't help that her face also looked stunningly young and beautiful. But it did help that said face was currently expressing a rather severe expression of disapproval. The one that usually heralded a quick trip to the palace's elaborately sophisticated torture chambers.

Dhakhan, taking the hint, scurried away with the look of someone who suddenly remembers he has something very urgent to do elsewhere. Before Karl'ac could think of some way to wiggle out, Chuang-Mu spoke again, in her imperious leader's voice.

"Karl'ac, reports tell me that you cowardly fled from the battlefield and surrendered your meager domains to Nirrti ! And you dare stand in front of me ?"

He quickly kneeled in front of her, forgetting even to check out her loveely legs, and replied with his most humble voice (something Goauld's were notoriously bad at doing) :

"Wise and exalted Lady, it is true that I failed to contain Nirrti's assault. But the foul Anubis provided her with the upgraded technology to make her ships extremely hard to damage. I was outnumbered and outgunned, yet I managed to take out her force of Al'Kesh and Gliders with a new tactic I came with."

"Did you ? Tell me about it !"

He proceeded to tell her about his fiddling with the plasma containment fields and the way his forces had used the flak tactic, expecting a little praise in return. He was very disappointed to receive nothing of the sort.

"Do you really believe this little trick will fool our enemies more than once ? If that's the best you can come up with, it's no wonder you were never more than an insignificant little ruler of backwater systems nobody else wanted !" _And do you think I didn't remark the way you were ogling me ? _she left unspoken.

Karl'ac's temper was now inwardly fuming. The fucking bitch was only there because she screwed Yu's brains out and she dared belittle his efforts like that ? And the way the other Goaul'ds present were openly smirking at the tongue-lashing she was giving him ! Bunch of arrogant bastards whose only quality was the way their tongues could polish Yu's shoes ! May they have sarcophagus malfunctions and transform into faceless blobs of rotting flesh !

He nevertheless gritted his teeth and replied as amiably as he could.

"Exalted Lady, I am well aware of my failures and I may have a way to redeem them..." he started, to be cut off abruptly by a slap. "No more excuses ! I am tired of your pathetic failure to hold your rank ! Since you are obviously not fit to own a system and command an army, Lord Dhakhan will take over your remaining Jaffas. As for yourself, you're only fit to pilot an Al'Kesh in Lord Yu's fleet !" Chuang-Mu sneered at him. He was red with shame and anger. "Do you wish to challenge my decision ?"

One look at the expressionless guards posted around the chamber was enough to convince Karl'ac that lunging at her and clawing her beautiful eyes out of their sockets, although extremely appealing, would be very unwise, not to mention futile. The palace _had_ a sarcophagus, but _he_ would only see it to be revived between an endless succession of horribly painful, deadly and inventive torture sessions.

Therefore, he did the only reasonable thing, bowing even more and letting out a sigh.

"No, exalted and noble Lady. I accept your wise decision."

_And you'll never know about Ra's death and the fact that his domains are up for grab, you cunt._

_**Nova Virconium, Hellas Planitia, Moon Near Side**_

_**Command Central**_

_**August 6th, 2010**_

"Will you please tell me what this is all about ?" The woman talking at Archon von Schrakenberg on the ultra-secure line was a hero of the Final War, Governor of Luna, niece of the Archon himself. Nevertheless, Yolande Ingolffson was... not infuriated, but certainly annoyed. This secret project she wasn't privy to had kept a sizable portion of Luna's total construction capacity for a little more than two months already, a capacity she could have used to complete several agrodomes in construction near Nova Virconium. Agrodomes that would go a long way towards restoring food production – that is, real food, instead of the genetically modified algae nutrient concentrates that had been keeping the population of Luna alive since the Final War. Sure, they came in various textures and tastes, and contained everything human metabolism needed, but ten years of eating them were enough to make one stomach very unhappy. Still, it was better than starving, with Earth's most productive lands either radioactive or frozen most of the year, at least until the big orbital mirrors were completed, a task that had just about begun.

In fact, Luna and Mars had been able to rebuild much faster than anticipated. Not all the scars of the war had disappeared yet, but Nova Virconium itself and Aresopolis had been restored to their previous splendor, as well as the ex-Alliance cities of Britannia and New Edo. The influx of qualified workers from the ex-Alliance space holdings, who had accepted Draka citizenship, had immensely helped, as Yolande herself had to grudgingly concede. High-speed maglev tracks now joined the cities, agrodomes and industrial installations on the surface again, which made transport of passengers and goods even more efficient.

And now a new military installation was sprouting up, and down, in a Far Side crater thousands of kilometers away from the closest other facility, which was a large automated radio-telescope array sprawling its antennas over hundreds of square kilometers. It was actually an Alliance one, but the war had mostly spared such obviously scientific installations. Now, a heavy duty maglev landing pad and inflatable temporary habitats occupied the crater floor while robotic drillers and constructors tirelessly dug into the rim's hard rock. Workers were setting up heavy weapons batteries all around the rim, curiously set-up so as to be able to fire anywhere, away as well as into the crater itself... which wasn't going to be domed. Instead, what was obviously a large complex of reinforced chambers, barracks and lab spaces was being dug out 200 meters under the surface, that would be linked via a short-distance maglev track to another, smaller complex ten kilometers farther on the rim. Yolande had been able to look at the blueprints for that facility, which looked like a fortress with multi-meter thick ceracrete walls and heavy cermet doors of the like usually encountered in strategic missile silos. And provisions for elaborate internal defenses... as if it was designed to contain something dangerous as well as keep out unwanted visitors. To top it all, a fusion reactor was being assembled in its own reinforced underground installation, in the exterior side of the rim, to power the inner facilities.

Add to this the sudden arrival on Luna of several sealed containers escorted by Krypteria security guards, men fanatically committed to guarding the most sensitive secrets of the Domination, and the reservation of an entire section of Central Command for a Cohortarch... no, Merarch Anton de Polignac and a hundred of dangerous-looking and tight-lipped soldiers, all Drakensis with Airborne, Recon or SpecWar backgrounds... And there had been that spectacular battle in Earth orbit three months before involving a huge ship of totally alien design. Yolande Ingolffson was far from stupid, she had connected some dots, and she intended to be brought in whatever was happening in Dante crater. That was very clear in her expression, and Archon von Schrakenberg sighed.

"It's a highly classified project, Governor."

"I know that, and I'm not dumb either. This facility in Dante crater has wrought havoc in my construction schedules and is eating precious resources, what with being such high priority. And say, it wouldn't be related to this... alien threat that has the whole Domination up in arms ?"

"This alien threat has been taken care of, Governor. Our space force performed admirably, as I said in my public declaration the following day...-" he was interrupted by an impatient-looking Ingolffson.

"Oh, please, Eric... do you _really_ expect me to gobble up this propaganda ? I have my own sensor records y'know, I saw what this crippled ship did to our battlestation. Now I know that despite the job I did here on Luna, which you even commended me on, you still don't completely trust me... Do yo' think I don't regret the destructions and the deaths we suffered during the War ? By the White Christ, I'm feeling them _every single day_ yet I'm doing, I've always been doing my duty to the Race ! For the memory of Myfwany... and for the future of my children !"

Schrakenberg winced slightly. He'd actually forgiven her niece, but never gotten around to tell her, and now wasn't the time. Yet, was it reasonable to leave the war-decorated Governor of Luna, one of the highest officials of the Domination, in the dark about the Stargate project going in her figurative backyard ? One that certainly involved the future survival and expansion of the Race ?

"All right" he finally replied. "But understand... this doesn't leave yo' office, is that clear ?"

**Science Directorate Zero-Gee Research Station Hephaestos**

**L5 Earth-Lunar point**

**August 10th 2010**

The_ servus_ lab technician was just as excited as his Human-Draka supervisor. They were running the chemical testing protocol on this new and miraculous material someone else had dubbed _Energium,_ for its stunning properties. The technician didn't know where it came from and knew better than asking questions, but his superior had read the Physics' lab folks' reports. The energy-density was nothing short of magical, and they were already busy laying the first designs of Energium reactors the size of an aircar's power cell and matching the output of a fusion plant, with almost 100% efficiency thanks to the material's inherent qualities and the use of high-temperature supraconductors. That alone would revolutionize spaceship design... And best of all, it seemed very stable. You could literally bang on it with a hammer and it wouldn't budge, though the colleagues of the reckless experimentator had almost shoved him out of an airlock afterwards.

It also didn't seem poisonous, as the test subjects who had ingested or been injected small quantities were still alive and heathy. Apparently, the material pretty much ignored organic matter and wasn't radioactive. It certainly didn't react with carbon at any rate. They were putting samples of every element in contact with a few grams of Energium, using one of the sealed vacuum experimentation chambers for that.

The Draka looked at his perscomp, and announced the next phase in a cheerful voice.

"Energium chemical test protocol, Senior Researcher Alexander Larsen and Senior Technician Linnar d'Rutherford. Next object of study is Energium-Potassium interaction, or lack thereof." The comp automatically logged and transferred his statement to Hephaestos' central comp core, which would dump it real-time, along with the test telemetry, to a heavily protected and dedicated data storage unit in Command Central.

The white-clothed technician grabbed the control handles for the manipulation waldoes in the test chamber, and started the now well-rehearsed procedure. Larsen watched the proceeding with interest, keeping an eye on the flat-screens where the sensor readings would appear. It hadn't yielded any surprise until now.

The potassium pellet inched closer to the small container housing the Energium sample, one centimeter, then five millimeters, then one... then it made contact, and all happened very quickly. A reaction rivaling matter-antimatter annihilation blew through the chamber, whose thick shielding and armored glass only held for a fraction of a second, then a shock wave of superheated air scoured the lab space clean, vaporizing all organic matter inside, before spreading through the ventilation shafts and access corridors to the whole chemical research section of the station, ignoring every containment system and shattering the bulkheads around the blast doors. Then it found its way to the high-energy physics section and the few ounces of experimental antimatter in a sensitive magnetic containment field...

Less than tenth of a second after the first explosion, the thirty-thousand ton bulk of the station, with its annular particle accelerator, cutting-edge laboratories and hundreds of the Domination's best scientific minds were an expanding cloud of plasma and solid fragments launched outwards at railgun velocities. Automatic defenses on Luna and the neighboring L5 installations reacted instantaneously, vaporizing or diverting the projectiles that were on a collision course, and the first screams came only seconds later.

**Aerospace Command Base Aresopolis**

**Mare Serenitatis, Luna**

**August 12th 2010**

"... and this, Ladies and Gentlemen, concludes our daily lesson." drawled off the voice of Dr Daniel Jackson, formerly Head of the University of Alexandria's Archeology Department, now Special Advisor to the Domination's Stargate Project. His students had been soaking up his lessons on ancient civilizations like sponges, and he still marveled at those New Race types' ability to learn archeo-linguistics like it was child's play. Those soldiers in Merarch de Polignac's new and highly secret unit were becoming fluent in Ancient Egyptian dialects, but also in Attic, Latin, Sanskrit, Sumerian,Hebrew and even the decrypted Mayan languages. They could literally glance at a page and memorize it instantly. Sometimes, he really felt like a dinosaur, an obsolete relic. Fortunately, they were polite and respectful, even though they were very conscious of their superior abilities. Probably because they knew the future was theirs, with virtually unending natural lifespans. They could afford to be nice with the oldies like him, until the last representative of the Old Draka died of old age. A sobering thought.

Daniel knew, from conversations with fellow oldies, that some held some resentment and expressed doubts about the New Race's genetical modifications. They were a minority, with the bulk of Draka society reveling in their great accomplishment, the true birth of Nietzsche's Superman, among them the Militant Party's being the most vocal. And true to their nature, they had immediately predicted, and called for, the inevitable enslavement of every alien species after May's "incident". Twits, thought Daniel. Oh, enslavement wasn't the problem – it was after all the Draka's destiny to conquer and subjugate other races – but the blind recklessness. Gayner's followers would be happy to charge headlong in the Galaxy, trumpeting their goals every step. Which, if the projections of the aliens' true capabilities were true, would be extremely unwise. It was a good thing that Archon von Schrakenberg and his pragmatists were securely in power.

Daniel was putting his notes away when Anton de Polignac approached him, with his usual smirk. The scholar winced. He knew what this meant.

"Doctor, I hope yo' still got sum' energy left fo' the hand-to-hand combat trainin' ?"

Like every Draka, Jackson had undergone the spartan martial education since early childhood and done his military service, in the Airborne troops no less, and kept in shape ever since. Still, he nursed a good collection of bumps and bruises since the start of the Project. The Merarch (Polignac had received a promotion, as head of the military team) had been adamant that every single Citizen personnel involved should improve, in some cases rebuild, proficiency in armed and unarmed combat. "Ain't no damn civilians on the battlefield" was his motto. It was even tougher for the handful of Softies scientists and engineers, who'd never undergone such training before. Strategos Rosenberg had actually thrown a tantrum in Schrakenberg's office when she'd learnt that ex-Alliance personnel were brought in the Project. "Unacceptable security risk", she'd shrieked. The Archon had merely pointed that the persons concerned had been among the best in their field, and that their Draka equivalents were currently drifting atoms in space after Hephaestos' spectacular destruction.

Daniel finished tidying his papers and followed Polignac out of the amphitheater. They walked to the nearest lift, exchanging pleasantries and making small talk.

"Honestly, taking a raw wench, barely under the Yoke, an' submitting her to yo' will, breaking here into yo' own mold, 'tis much more rewarding than simply buyin' a trained one. And cheaper, too" the Merarch was saying. "Take this blonde Yank I found during my last Pacification mission, fo' example. Barely two months havin' her in my quarters, and she's already as willing and adept at playin' pony as a Plantation born 'n bred one."

"Ah' hear ya, but still, yo' New Race folks have an unfair advantage at that, with that pheromone control of yours" replied Jackson. "Besides, with mah research and duties, Ah couldn't be bothered with trainin' a serf. Stevenson & De Verre's customer service was always first class at any rate" he laughed.

They entered the lift, and the officer fingered the touch-sensitive destination screen showing a diagram of the underground fortress. Their destination was the palestra on level 34, a complex of sparring chambers, high-speed combat arenas and muscle training equipment carved 800 meters under the surface. The lift – actually a transfer capsule able to move vertically as well as horizontally on its magnetic tracks – started its journey between levels and section of the base, armored blast doors opening and closing to let it pass through the various sealed sections and levels. It stopped four minutes later and the two men stepped out in the palestra's main corridor, heading to a changing room where they were met by soldiers and civilians from the Project in various states of undress.

"Ah, here yo' are, Doctor. I almost thought you'd be pussying out after our last sparring bout" shouted a long-limbed woman, hard lean muscles rippling under smooth bronze skin as she finished removing her duty uniform to change into the body-hugging sporting garment favored by Drakas of both gender for its sweat-removing properties. Not to mention the way it molded every inch of their body.

"Ah, but it wasn't fair, Decurion Rayner, yo' were pumping out those pheromones to distract me" he replied back with a wink that elicited chuckles around the room.

"Fair ain't part of the military's vocabulary, Doctor" she grinned back. "Besides, yo got the reflex of a drunk elephant".

"Ah' must be making progress then, last week it was a crippled turtle" he replied with a theatrical shrug drawing more laughter in the room.

And anyway, Decurion Ann Rayner, his unarmed combat trainer, was well pulling her punches, knowing that he could never match her New Race speed or strength. That wasn't the point of the training anyway. She restrained her own potential just enough to make it a challenge for him, and he'd been improving steadily. In any case, he never complained during the matches, showing true Draka spirit. He'd even surprised her the previous day, dodging her hand strike and landing a fierce kick on her plexus faster than she'd thought him capable of. Naturally, it hadn't made a difference, his foot rebounding off her steel-hard abdominal muscles before her own counter-move launched him sailing through the air to land ten meters away. To his credit, he'd done a near-perfect landing... but she'd been on him before he could even start standing up and pinned him in a lethal throat lock.

"Don't worry, today yo'll be sparring against your civilian colleagues. A bit fairer don't yo' think ?"

Two hours and several more bruises later, even with the padding he wore over his close-fitting garment, he called enough. He had some time before they'd all head to the saunas and bubble baths, and headed towards one of the muscle-building rooms, glancing in the adjoining chambers through the wide glass windows. Other soldiers were practicing unarmed combat in various configurations, against one or several opponents, in bare padded circles or recreations of civilian and military settings. The goal was to use any object as an improvised weapon, and be equally at ease fighting in a large dining room or in a cramped staircase.

The reduced lunar gravity was another factor, enabling the fighters to bounce around the walls, even the high ceilings, to attack from unusual directions. They even wore lead weights to compensate their lower apparent weight. It was certainly a spectacular sight, watching those genetically engineered supermen move as blurs, too fast for "normal" eyes to distinguish, smashed wooden furniture occasionally flying off from the middle of the action. The damn bastards didn't even bother with padding, confident in their cat-like reflexes and super-dense bones to avoid serious injuries.

Daniel Jackson nodded silently. Whoever those aliens were, they didn't know what was coming for them.

**Nova Virconium, Surface Level, Recreation Area**

Before the war, Ray Cliff Patricks had been a respected academic in the Alliance for Democracy. Holding several doctorates in high-energy and theoretical physics, he'd been among the research and development teams who had produced the first working prototypes of particle beam weapons in the early sixties. Weapons that immediately started to equip the new orbital battlestations making air-breathing fighters almost obsolete, and later meant that even deep-diving submarines weren't invulnerable any more. At 76, he nevertheless hadn't been selected for the New America passenger manifest, and the defeat of the Alliance had been a stomach-turning blow for him. As a civilian expert on New Edo, he'd witnessed first hand the military personnel going insane and mutilating themselves in varied and gruesome ways before trying to hunt down and kill the uninfected in scenes worthy of those bad midnight zombie vids.

The nightmarish scenes were only rivaled by the sight of Alliance ships and stations in Cislunar space annihilated one after another by Draka weapons, then the shock of Snake troops in space armor blasting open the main airlocks and letting their revolting ghouloons wild in the corridors. The civilians, led by surviving military personnel, had erected barricades and sealed sections and passages, often welding blast doors shut. They succeeded in delaying the onslaught until powerful explosives and plasma torches cut through them. True to their warrior tradition, some of the Japanese inhabitants of the city had acted as kamikaze, blowing themselves up in concentrations of Draka troops and forcing them to slow their advance in the upper levels. Finally, news of the cease-fire, and peace proposal, had ended the resistance, as it became clear that the war was lost. At least they'd been spared enslavement. Or having to detonate the charges rigged on the breeder reactor down below the city... with its deadly cargo of plutonium.

Later, the rebuilding efforts had kept everyone busy... until the first pregnant women had to undergo the New Race eugenics modifications on the fetus growing in their womb. The outrage had been huge. In retrospect, they should have known better – the peace conditions had been very clear. And the execution of the most troublesome family had put an end to open recrimination.

Patricks was glad he didn't have any children. Watching his grandkids grow as one of those mutant freaks would have been... unsettling to say the least.

As a high-level scientist, he did have a certain privileged status. The Science Directorate had been quick to recognize his potential and assign him to one of their research labs. Fortunately not inside Hephaestos. He was sure that many of the Softies had cheered when the station had exploded. An accident involving anti-matter, the news had said. Certainly not impossible, but careless.

Then those Draka officials had come yesterday with a new assignment for him, and he'd reported to the Directorate office in Nova Virconium before renting a room for the night. But he preferred to come here, in the gardens, and look at the stars, cold and immovable in the sky, through the transparent dome, Around him were the flowers beds and the trees replanted after the War, tended by _servus_ gardeners and already tall in the low gravity. Artificial lighting was currently dim as befitted night, and candles flickered on the tables occupied by couples, lovers or dreamers like himself. Servants moved quietly and efficiently around, bringing drinks and making sure the upper crust of Lunar society didn't lack of anything. Except proper food, that is. Even here, people had to make do with those dreadful nutrient concentrates. Patricks chuckled. It was hardly anyone's idea of a romantic meal, even if the setting was otherwise perfect, with stars and a sliver of Earth overhead.

Patricks made out the glimmer of the zero-gee fabricators and habitats in Lagrange orbits, tiny pinpoints of light at this distance marking the location of the multi-thousand-ton behemoths churning out vital components and refined materials for the Domination's industry. Closer and more clearly visible were the orbital power collectors, vast arrays of thin-film only a few molecules thick, whose nano-scale components efficiently transformed solar radiation into electricity before microwave emitters beamed the resulting power to receiving stations on the Moon. Their dark shapes obscured the stars, but running lights outlined their perimeter. Such marvels of mankind... lying about the true nature of their builders.

As he was squinting upwards, a cheerful nasal voice slapped him out of his reverie.

"Patricks ! I can't believe it, that's you ?"

"Gates... what are you doing here ?" he replied with a genuine smile at the man standing near him. Last time he'd seen Stuart Gates, he'd still been designing compinstruction sets and microwafers in Seattle, before the war. A recognized genius in his twenties. No wonder the Drakas would have scooped him from the wreckage and given him citizenship. "I'm glad you made it out of the war alive. What have you been up to all this time ?" he enquired.

"Well, as soon as the Sna... er, the Drakas recognized me, they gave me first-class treatment, VIP you know. I was glad to be out of this refugee camp, the war and the subsequent weather change hit the region fairly hard. And I was scared shitless when those big fucking Janissaries rounded us all to be, ya know, processed. Fortunately they must have had my name tagged on their database, because that Abdul did a double take and called an officer pronto." explained the comp specialist.

"So you didn't get a nice little number tattooed on your neck" nodded Patricks.

"No, they gave me a citizenship and shipped me straight to the Faraday office in Archona. The first years, we all worked on fixing the damage our, I mean, the Alliance's comp plague had done on their, err, our systems. Then I've been designing improved logic decks, writing instruction sets, that sort of thing. I got off pretty well"

Patricks could see that. Pre-war, Gates had the typical soft, chunky body shape of comp engineers, along with a spotty face and a slightly diffident posture. The man in front of him was slim, with a straight back and smooth skin with an air of confidence. He was even clothed in Draka fashion and a closer look revealed a small sapphire earring.

"So, what are you doing in Virco ? Working ?" he asked the older man.

"No, I've been assigned to some project couple days ago. Secret from the looks of it, haven't been told anything more precise yet. Anyway, I wouldn't tell you if I knew, or I'd have to ask one of those nice people around to kill you." he chuckled.

"A secret project, eh ? Would it have any relation to that alien spaceship that turned up couple months ago before being blown to smithereens ?"

"Can't tell, really. Could be, could be not." Patricks replied noncommittally. "And you ?"

"Well... kinda same as you, in fact !" The other man raised his brows. "I'm to report for a project here, no specifics. I took a shuttle yesterday, and here I am." His eyes darted around, and he lowered his voice. "You know, this ship... it wasn't tracked entering in the system, some colleagues told me." Patricks leaned closer. Gates had to be pretty chummy with his Snake coworkers, if they told him so much. "Have you thought about the implications...?"

He had, actually. FTL travel meant that the truce between the Domination and the _New America_ could be broken much sooner than anyone had anticipated. And if the Snakes somehow got ahold of this technology first... he shuddered. A whole galaxy possibly under their loathsome Yoke. He couldn't express his thought aloud, though. He was certainly monitored by the Security Directorate headhunters. They were always looking for signs of betrayal, especially among the Softies. And Gates... he wasn't sure where the man's loyalties laid anymore. He certainly had adopted some Draka customs...

Just then, a beautifully modulated female voice broke across, speaking in the Domination's accented English, but with submissive undertones.

"Excuse me, Massah, I finished unpacking your bags and your room is ready"

Startled, Patricks looked over his shoulder. Unbelievable. The woman, no, the girl was stunning. Platinum hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing an elfin face and eyes so blue they were almost violet, slender limbs and delicate figure... The looks of an angel, in a simple, Greek-inspired white tunic with sober goldthread embroidery stopping at the middle of her thighs and leaving her arms bare. An unadorned golden tiara contrasting with the silver of her mane. She was standing there, two steps behind his chair and slightly on the left, her hands joined over her chest in the standard serf position of obedience.

He turned his head back towards Gates, who was grinning sheepishly.

"Stuart... what the hell is _this_ ?" he asked in a low tone.

"Um, this is Alyanna, my, err... personal assistant."

"Your slave, you mean" Patricks shot back in an icy tone.

"Uh, no, I mean, she's my servant, sure, but she's more than that, and anyway she doesn't come from the Alliance, she was born in the Domination -"

"So that makes it right ?" cut the older man.

"No, err, I mean, that's the way things are, at least with me she's well treated, really... Heck, we're supposed to be Drakas now, we ought to blend in, you know ?" the young man answered defensively.

"She's a _servus_, right ?"

"Uh, yeah, and someone would have bought her if it weren't me ! Okay, I know you think I'm a bastard, but really, what other alternative there is ? And God, she's so beautiful... it's like a dream come true !" Gates pleaded.

"I see that you found your place in the new order of things, good for you. And yes, she is gorgeous. Still... you should know better, you almost ended up with a slave collar yourself !" came the reply in a slightly hotter tone than intended.

"By Wotan, Patricks, the Alliance lost the frigging war, for all its morals, maybe they weren't good enough, maybe the Drakas were right, kill or be killed, you know ? For all the talk before the war about how horrible the Domination was, nobody took action, nobody did anything, they even gave them the time to activate the Stone Dogs instead of hitting first ! Now that the Alliance's gone, erased, I'm not going to weep the rest of my life about it !" Stuart shot back with a hint of venom in his tone.

Patricks glowered and opened his mouth to reply, when another voice, feminine, but this time in the smooth rich tone of the New Race, interrupted the exchange.

"Is there a problem, lads ? Couldn't help but notice yo' talking so loud, and sound travels well heah, y'know ? Since yo' hides are apparently precious enough for yo' t' be heah, t'would be a waste fo' the Headhunters to remove it as a trophy, now. Anyway, mah name's Alexandra Jourdain, Tetrarch. An' ah got a feelin' we'll see each otha' soon, if yo "secret projets" are what ah' think". She held her hand. Fingers of steel gripped Patricks' and pressed just enough to make his bones pop, and her green gaze pierced his eyes. He felt the awing pheromones caress his brain, and he relaxed unconsciously, his mind under the chemical spell.

"Ah, sure, Tetrarch. We were just having an.. eager conversation, that's all. I hadn't seen Stuart for such a long time, and, you know, the changes that life brings are sometimes surprising". Gates nodded enthusiastically, his own brain overpowered by the Drakensis' sheer presence.

"Good. Ah'll leave yo at yo'... friendly reunion. Jus' don't get too carried away, see what Ah mean ?" her meaningful gaze swept both of them.

The two men were too stunned to answer, completely entranced. When the Draka female was away, they heard a voice moan softly. "_Oh, she's so beautiful !_"

Turning to the sound in a parallel motion, they saw Alyanna, kneeling with a look of rapt adoration on her angelic face, her eyes gaping in he direction Jourdain had left.

They turned back to stare silently at each other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 : Poking out of the hole**

**DASCB Dante**

**Dante Crater, Moon Far Side**

**August 26th, 2010**

"I am pleased to report that Dante Base has reached preliminary operational stage, Excellence, with provisions as explained in my full written report. We're able to commence active operations as soon as you give the order."

"Very good, Merarch. I'll tell you, this took long enough already. For all we know, more of those alien ships could have visited us, and it's certainly only a matter of time before it happens again. Now that the facility's online, we need to know what's out there, and we need to know fast." Schrakenberg's face was plainly concerned on the vidscreen.

"Understood, Excellence. We'll start the activation tests on the gate right away."

"I'll be waiting on your report, Merarch. Service to the State."

"Glory to the race !"

The high security transmission cut to be replaced by the snarling dragon of the Domination. Outside the multiple layers of bullet-proof glascrys of his commanding officer's apartment window, Anton could actually see the surface installations of Dante base. Having his residence at surface level was a privilege, and the security risk was deemed acceptable. The meter-thick exterior wall was set in the rim, 200 meters above the crater's surface, and a heavy cermet-composite shutter could seal the window at a moment's notice, or automatically if any kind of alert was declared. His apartment was connected to complex Alpha, the main facility, by an armored lift whose shaft was sealed by blast doors at both ends. It also had its own armored airlock, with a well camouflaged exit somewhere on the rim, and a small personal armory. It was in all respects a miniature fortress. Still, Anton did not plan on getting besieged in his own quarters by little green men.

As he watched, a shuttle completed its final approach, ventral thrusters firing little clouds of vapor just before the powerful magnets in its belly interacted with the maglev landing pad, cushioning its remaining downwards velocity before gliding away on the track towards the parking. It stopped in position near an protruding transfer point and extended its support legs downwards, while the docking arm extended from the squat gray tower near its nose, until it connected with the main shuttle door. Anton knew that the tube would now be pressurizing, and that two minutes later the door would open outwards to let the passengers disembark. An underground capsule would then efficiently transport them to the primary complex.

This would be the last batch of ghouloons, trained in heavy infantry ground and space warfare, using the latest vacuum-capable armor suits, although they could also use the less bulky standard armor., accompanied by their trainers and caregivers. Those had to be Drakensis, for no Servus and few Old Ones would volunteer for the job. Ghouloons were actually very cuddly when you got to know them, like big, smart, lethal pets. Their loyalty couldn't be questioned either, obedience to the New Race hardwired in their genetic makeup. He gave a last glance downward, turned on his heels and walked to the lift door. As the doors opened, he paused, walked back to his room and removed a wooden box from the wall safe. He entered the lift with a small smile and set for the main level, the touch sensitive panel recognizing his fingerprint while the small eye-level camera did the same with his iris.

He stepped out in his office, where the light went up automatically. Every movement of the lift was logged and triggered a warning in the security office, itself a miniature fortress below the base, accessible through a narrow access way sealed by a set of doors able to withstand a tactical nuke on contact.

From there, he walked through the main level to the Operations Center's a self-contained bunker. The floor of the hexagonal room was taken by two rows of workstations, some monitoring the surveillance sensors in the Gate Room, others displaying power readings, temperature gauges, and more esoteric information from the myriad of monitoring and recording sensors keeping track of every possible parameter on the alien mechanism. Three giant screens occupied the far walls, while the rear was taken up by the observation area and the main access door. One of the wall displays currently showed the Gate itself, set at one end of a long rectangular room, the heart of complex B. It was set on a movable pedestal that could move up to three meters above the ground. Its support mechanism could also put it in horizontal position if need be. Massive superconductor cables ran from the gate assembly to ports set high on the ceracrete rear wall. The base of the walls was totally smooth, but armored panels four meters from the floor hid weapon emplacements, auto-cannons and grenade launchers. A crenelated walkway encircled the whole room six meters high in a manner similar to those found in medieval castles. The whole layout was designed so that defenders could shoot down into the kill-zone below and make any would-be invader sorry they'd come. In the unlikely outcome that they'd force their way out of the Gate Room through the main nuke-proof exit, they would find themselves on the crater floor, under fire by the battlestation-grade weapons of the rim, and in vacuum to boot.

For the moment, the Gate Room was mostly taken up by scientific equipment whose telemetry was relayed into the Operations Center. All of complex B was depressurized, and a single squad of Polignac's Drakensis soldiers sat in one of the adjoining troop staging areas on the upper floor, ready to barge through into the Gate room at a second's notice.

"Commander, all systems are operational, the reactor's stable and we're ready to commence operations at any time !" proudly announced the senior scientist, one of the (remaining) leaders on theoretical physics in the Domination.. His eagerness was reflected in the faces of every personnel, including the _servus_ technicians manning some of the consoles below.

"Excellent, Thomas. Doctor Jackson, I believe you have a set of coordinates to propose...?"

"As promised, Merarch. The set of symbols found in the temple matches some of those on the stargate, and if my colleagues here are right, they should allow us to open a molehole to the destination... a place called Abydos, apparently."

"A molehole... you know, this still sounds like a Yank techno-fiction vid" mused Anton.

"Nevertheless", replied the grinning scientist "preliminary testing showed that modulated signals can order the device to activate and lock the symbols. And if its purpose is to act as a gateway to different places, it makes sense that those symbols are spatial coordinates. Especially since some of 'em are recognizable constellations."

"I know, I know, but it still sounds like magic" chuckled the officer.

"I'll admit that the physics behind such a device are... well, we're like babies trying to figure what the alphabet is before reading an encyclopedia, Commander. The Alliance was ahead of us in this area, but even they would be lost" shrugged Thomas Rohm.

The faces of the Drakas hardened briefly at the mention of their vanquished foe. If this stargate worked as expected, it would be the key to settle the score once and for all with the hated Yanks.

"Well, Professor... Let's do it. Dial Doctor Jackson's coordinates." The order for action, finally.

The warbling tones of Amber alert resonated through the pressurized areas of the base, and the commsets of those in vacuum. Red warning lights flared while every blast door in the facility closed. Inactive defenses around the crater powered to standby status, ready to unleash hell out of their armored shells. In the Ops Center, operators and technicians fastened the restraints on their molded seats while the men and women on the observation deck gripped the railing. Not that they really expected something catastrophic, but better safe than sorry. For all they knew, the aliens on the other side could be prepared to chuck a large nuke through the molehole.

As the primary technician entered the destination code on his console, his colleagues surveyed the telemetry, power charts climbing steadily as the output of the fusion reactor was channeled into the ring-shaped portal. On the center wall display, the commander and the archeologist watched as the grey circle spun to align the proper symbol with each successive chevron-shaped lock.

"Seventh symbol entered and... Christ !"

Nobody paid attention to the technician's slip, as he, along with everyone else, was gaping at the picture. As soon as the final chevron had slid into place, a fountain had erupted from the ring and retracted in a pool of...

"Is that water ?" spoke a stunned Daniel Jackson.

"I don't think so" replied Rohm. He glanced down and barked "Report !" to the operators below.

"Master, it's not water, it's..."

"What ?" came the impatient reply.

"Energy, Master, no kind of matter that the sensors could recognize. We have some whiffs of particle decay and low level electromagnetism... coherent with background cosmic radiation"

"Anything harmful ?" interjected the commander.

"Negative, Master. Nothing threatening."

"Very well. Send the probe through."

The probe was a multi-purpose, space-capable, tactical drone, currently set in its spider-like walking configuration. Three pairs of flexible legs supported a blended body where the multispectral cameras, flat and wire radio antennas, chemical analyzer apertures and sound pickups were located. The dark grey carapace also housed small thrusters for movement in zero-G. Upon activation, it started obeying its preset programming, scurrying up to the gate and through, disappearing in the shimmering surface of the molehole in all its mechanical lack of concern for survival.

Its human master, on the other hand, did expect it to survive and waited for it to give any sign of life, the technicians with tense faces, the leaders with an impassive air hiding their own impatience.

Two seconds that looked like eternities later, video and telemetry from the spider appeared on the primary displays, in time with a cry from the probe operator.

"It's alive !" the servus male blurted out, before regaining his countenance and announcing in a more official tone "Masters, we're receiving signals from the spider on all bands and it replies to pings ! Radio can travel through !"

On the deck, Rohm surveyed the various readings, commenting them in a clinical tone.

"Spectrography gives us a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, breathable, no toxic component, pressure's 987, well within Earth norm... Gravity's 0.99 gee, almost perfect match. Temperature's a 27 celsius. Silicates... rock. It's a little dark out there, switch on light intensification."

The technician obeyed, and the video feed remained pitch black. Rohm arched his brow and shot a questioning glance at the serf.

"System's working, Master, no malfunction detected !"

"Turn the infrared light on" the order came with Polignac's voice.

The servant obeyed and the blackness resolved in silvery shapes.

"Battlefield experience" grinned the commander "sometimes, plain intensification doesn't work when you're in a sealed environment, with absolutely no light source"

The camera turret pivoted around its axis, panning across stone pillars, then the gate behind the drone in its shimmering glory, before returning to the 12 o'clock position.

"Another temple ? Are those aliens some kind of spirit-damned cult or what ?" the Drakensis intoned. "Move the spider around. Before that, launch the return capsule"

The technician nodded and the little explorer lobbed a grenade-size ball from a stubby tube on its back. The ball sailed clean and vanished into the molehole.

"Master, we... don't have anything, the capsule is not coming through" the tech's voice sounded disappointed.

"Well, we learned that it's a one-way trip" was Rohm's reply, more for his fellow Drakas than for the serfs below.

The probe moved forward, and the shape of a dialing pedestal similar to the broken one found near the gate in Egypt came into view.

"Or maybe not" Jackson added. "Although we'd have to find the return address".

"Any sound ? Any sign of a presence around the spider ?" inquired Anton. As the serf replied by the negative, he ordered to switch on the main light.

The ghostly silver of the intensifier gave way to color.

"Oh yeah, it does look like _deja vu_, what d'yo' think Doctor ?"

"I concur, Merarch. Another temple. But I'd wager this one is not in Egypt."

"Now that would be disappointing !" Anton replied in a laugh.

A little more than a half-hour later, as the spider was finishing its thorough mapping of the building, the gate shut down abruptly, painting a look of alarm over the Ops Center's occupants.

"Report !" Anton's loud voice cut through the babbling of the technician serfs, along with a carefully metered dose of soothing pheromones.

"Master, the gate shut down unexpectedly"

"Tell me something I don't know yet !" the Draka growled in a predatory tone, before catching himself. _Damn, this serf doesn't need to be frightened._ He talked again, with a warmer and encouraging voice. "Was there a malfunction ? Damage ?"

"No, Master, all the systems are fine, it's just that it shut down without warning. I don't know why, Master" he finished with a small voice.

"I won't punish you if it wasn't your fault, serf. Now try redialing the gate."

**DASCB Dante**

**Briefing Room 1**

**August 28th, 2010**

The air circulating in Complex A's largest briefing room was filtered, scrubbed and recycled. However, it was currently crackling with excitement and expectation, as some of the Domination's most powerful men and women sat around the large table, one of the few items of luxury in the brand-new and spartan facility, a beautifully crafted piece of marquetry whose contrasting motifs of dark ebony and lighter reddish woods pictured the emblem of the Domination, a dragon holding the whip and manacles, on a pattern of stars.

Anton de Polignac, Thomas Rohm and Daniel Jackson had spent the last hour explaining the current situation, and the stargate's workings, to the military and scientific leaders who'd come especially from Earth or Lunar settlements to witness the start of a new world's conquest. Governor Ingolffson of Luna, Dominarch Schneider, promoted after the previous head of the Supreme General Staff was killed in an IED attack in North America, Strategos-Doctor Jacobson and Strategos Rosenberg had listened with eager interest, and now were busy asking questions.

"Any idea, Doctor Rohm, why the gate cannot remain active more than 38 minutes ?"

"Ah, unfortunately, no, Governor. As I said, we don't know how the gate does what it does, all our knowledge is entirely empirical. It isn't any kind of overheating for sure, and we can redial it immediately. Therefore, we won't have problems resupplying our expedition."

"An expedition which doesn't even know what it will be confronted with" grumbled the middle-aged stout Head of the Security Directorate, an affiliate of the hardline Militant's Party as most headhunters were, and always the first to point weaknesses with her professional paranoia.

"That's the point of exploring, isn't it ?" replied Polignac with his best charming smile, although he didn't bothered with pheromones. Not only was Anya Rosenberg widely considered (out of her hearing, of course) as asexual, something utterly bizarre among Drakas, but every headhunter had extensive bio-feedback training designed to neutralize the effects of New Race chemistry. A few daring subordinates privately joked that she only experienced orgasm during torture sessions. Which was probably true, as far as Polignac was willing to think about it.

"We don't know what's outside the temple, we don't know who, except they'll become our servants, like everyone else" he laughed.

"Like our distant ancestors did when they debarked on the coast of South Africa" added Schneider.

"Except we're not expecting spear-toting bushmen this time !" Jackson quipped.

"In any case, we're about to do it, and to celebrate our first success" Anton took out a rectangular wooden box from under the table "here's a little treat". Eyes widened as he extracted a bottle from the box, and a corkscrew from his uniform pocket.

"Pre-war champagne from my family's estates, Ladies and Gentlemen" he beamed. "Year 1996, a very good one"

Whistles answered, mixed with chuckles. "Now I know how you got those quick promotions, Merarch !" taunted Schneider, with a mocking twinkle in her eyes, to which Anton replied with a falsely contrite air.

"Oh, stop making those puppy eyes at me !" she laughed. "And open the damn bottle already!"

A serf entered the room, carrying a silver tray with crystal glasses, just as a "pop" signaled the cork flying and arcing gracefully over the table, courtesy of Lunar gravity.

"I'll let Chrysos here handle the filling, as he's more experienced handling drinks in low-gee." The lithe olive-skinned serf smiled and bowed before carefully pouring the sparkling fluid, then glided out of the room unobtrusively, waiting for the signal to come back and retrieve the empty cups.

Anton raised his glass. "To the Race's glorious new conquests !" he boomed.

"To the Race !" came the chorus of replies.

**Gate room, Complex B**

**August 29th, 2010**

**0500Z**

"I still wonder if it's wise having the base commander leading the first wave, when we have no idea if we'll be able to come back" observed Jackson through the private command frequency.

"Graveyards are full of irreplaceable people, besides, I wouldn't let a deskhugger like you go and stay behind myself" Anton shot back with more than a trace of mockery in his tone. "Besides, Rohm can manage the paper-shuffling, he even likes it."

Jackson's eyes rolled up behind his helmet's visor. _Gung-ho New Race boy !_

He was standing in line on the room's floor. Ahead of him were the bulky grey shapes of the point squad, six Drakensis whose strength was further augmented by artificial muscles in their armor suit. Between them, they sported enough firepower to destroy a Eurasian War-era destroyer, in the form of automatic grenade launchers, flamethrowers and multibarrel machine-guns loaded with thousands of armor-piercing explosive rounds in backpack ammunition bins. Anton doubted it would come to that, but better safe than sorry.

Behind them, more soldiers followed by the small science team, all Drakas. No way serfs would be trusted on an unknown and potentially hostile planet yet. All were in sealed body armor, as much against the present vacuum as precaution against potential harmful microorganisms.

"All personnel stand-by for Gate activation" Rohm's voice broke out in everyone's ears over the priority channel, as Amber Alert warnings resonated around the base. The wide blast door lowered behind them as the gate started spinning. The silence was unnatural. All one could hear was his own breathing and the occasional comment on the net.

The now familiar water-rush happened in front of them before the molehole settled in its normal state, painting the room with wavy blue light.

"Probe telemetry unchanged, you are go, Merarch" concluded Rohm. "And good hunting"

"Centurion Makkonen, advance !" came Anton's order.

The point squad bounced forward in columns of two, passing through the Gate in mid-step. The last pair vanished just as the video feed from the first reappeared on Polignac's eyepiece. He watched his lead men and women scanned their surrounding and positioned themselves around the gate in a protective semi-circle.

"The way's clear, Merarch !" Makkonen's barely-distorted voice announced.

Anton took a deep breath, then spoke in a firm voice.

"Everyone, move yo' ass !"

He moonwalked elegantly towards the gate, low, long easy steps, and almost flew through the event horizon. Jackson followed him closely, resisting the temptation to close his eyes.

_Well here goes nothing !_

The brief journey reminded him nothing more than his youth' brief experimentation with psychotropic substances, a kaleidoscope of bright blues forming a tunnel winding and turning through black space. It was exhilarating and frightening, but short. He emerged from the far gate in mid-step and fell instantly to the ground with a bit of stumbling.

"Damn it !" he cursed in his helmet.

"Yeah, yo' gotta be careful with the abrupt change in gravity" came Anton's reply. "Now move or the next travelers will bump on yo' ".

He could see around, thanks to the floodlights mounted on everyone's suit. It looked a lot like the Egyptian temple, but it was unadorned. The walls and pillars were bare hewn rock, without even a trace of color. He walked around as the rest of the expedition arrived, until he came to the chamber's exit, currently blocked by sand. _Buried alive_. He shook off the dark thought and walked back to the gate area, just as the scientists were setting up their biocontrol gear, taking the sensitive equipment out of its sturdy padded containers. One of them recognized his curiosity and explained : "We'll know if it's safe to unseal in a few minutes, Doctor". Daniel merely nodded. He was already feeling constrained in his suit, even though its environmental systems kept him pleasantly cool. He'd brought few baggage himself, his perscomp containing most of the data he needed, and besides, he could always ask Dante for more.

The next minutes were a flurry of activity, as the soldiers and technicians set up the base camp, installing lights and sensors all around the chamber. As the bio-analysis was completed, everyone except the heavy point squad opened up and breathed the dry extraterrestrial air for the first time.

"A little stale, no ? We better dig our way out" Anton commented. With that, men moved towards the clogged exit, carrying measuring equipment. It was basically a long, pointy shaft they would push into the mass, screwing more length as it progressed through the sand. They angled it level with the ground and started their labor.

"How do you know it's a straight line out ?" questioned a curious-looking Jackson.

"We don't" laughed one of the men heaving on the shaft. "We'll just feel our way through !"

Daniel left it at that. Sometimes, the simplest solutions were the best, he mused. He didn't have much to do at the moment, and went back to the rest area, looking for the food packs. As a concession to their pioneer status, and as a morale-building gesture, they'd been supplied with real food – actually, long-term storage war rations dating back to the Final War. Still, they were edible and tasty, if usually lacking texture. Citizen forces always insisted for proper food.

He rummaged and chose a box labeled lamb-and-olive tagine. _Almost like home_.He thought_. Except Larissa's not here to give me an oral treat for dessert._

***

He was contently sitting in his chair, back in his Alexandria office, piles of books and papyrus scrolls strewn everywhere. His eyes were closed and he groaned slightly as Larissa, his latest slave, a golden-skinned brunette from Greece, engulfed his manhood in her warm throat with the consummate skill of a professional courtesan. The chair started to shake violently, then office and girl were sucked in a dark void.

"Daniel ! Wake up !"

He opened his grit-encrusted eyes reluctantly and saw the grinning face of Polignac above him.

"Why the hell are you waking me up ? I was having a very nice dream" Daniel groused, frowning.

"Yes, I could see that" _Damn Drakensis and his superhuman senses !_ "but you might be interested in the females we just captured" Anton smirked.

"Uh ? What ! Did we make contact with anyone yet ?" Daniel blurted out, completely awoken this time.

"Ha ha, no, I was joking" Seeing the murderous glance Daniel shot him, he backed and spread his hands in a soothing gesture. "But we did dig our way out !"

The civilian jumped out of the field mat and followed the officer to the far end of the hall. He could see natural light threading inside the construction, as most of the sand had been cleared.

"Where did you put all the sand ?" he asked after a quick look around.

"Oh, we just threw it in the incoming molehole. Very convenient way of getting rid of unwanted matter" the other Draka shrugged. "Anyway, the drone went through, and saw nothing but more sand around. Looks safe to go out."

They made their way through the opening, the tall Drakas bending to avoid scraping their head on the stone ceiling, and emerged in blinding sunlight. Although Polignac's engineered eyes could adapt instantly, Daniel had to squint and put his hand out to filter the glare. After a moment's adaptation, he took some steps and turned around. The temple they'd stepped from was actually a pyramid, half buried in sand.

"So, what now ?" he asked.

"We'll launch aerial tactical drones to map out the surroundings, and continue to dig out the sand around the exit. If we don't find anything threatening around or in orbit, we'll launch a recon sat and bring in some aircars."

_Three hours later..._

"It's a town"

"More like the half-buried ruins of one" corrected Jackson.

They'd found it three kilometers South from the pyramid. According to the drones, it was the only artificial feature in the immediate vicinity, the rest being desert, sand and the occasional rock jutting out.

"You know, I expected something more..."

"Spectacular ?" Daniel inquired in a dry tone.

"Populated" replied Anton. "Ain't nobody to kill or enserf here"

"Or fuck" Daniel corrected.

"That, too. Fellow Drakas excepted."

"Well, you're certainly a handsome lad, but I don't really swing that way."

"You're not my type anyway. I'm afraid we'll have to look harder for alien wenches."

Both men laughed. It was a good way to forget their disappointment at the poor results of their exploration.

"Well, let's go have a closer look" Anton decided, and started down the sand dune in his supple leopard stride, followed by Daniel Jackson and Centurion Makkonen's squad, still in their bulky space armor. Daniel thought it had to be uncomfortable, but the truth was, the suits were air-conditioned and the soldiers inside didn't seem eager to step out in the scorching Abydos sun.

As they came closer to the walls, they could see that they were crumbling, obviously abandoned long ago. Anton spat and kicked a loose stone.

"Worthless ball of rock" he growled., and took a swig of water from his back harness. He keyed his radio and spoke in his throat microphone. "Sandtrap to Dante. Send over some serfs, with lots of shovels."

_A week later_

The hundred of Drakas and the serf workers sent by Dante Base had been busy. Not only the pyramid was now clear of sand, but the exit itself had been enlarged, which had permitted the transit of heavier vehicles and equipment. A small tent village was erected around, various antennas indicating the command post set in a large air-conditioned tent. Generators hummed and a secure perimeter had been established, monitored by visual, audio and seismic sensors and patrolled by armored ghouloons. This was also intended to deter the serfs from getting ideas, although it would take a very stupid one to try escaping into the desert.

The ghost town was being cleared under the supervision of Daniel Jackson. Very few artifacts, and no remains, had been found, which was puzzling. Daniel's guess was that the settlement had been abandoned by its inhabitants a long time ago. Where those were now, was a mystery, provided they didn't go off-world through the stargate.

At least they didn't have to walk, since aircars had been delivered from Luna. A long and wide cylindrical container was currently being hoisted out of the pyramid, having just transited through the gate. A couple other large packages followed and all were tractored outside, where technicians busied themselves unpacking the contents. Four hours later, the shape of a light unmanned orbital launcher, pointy nose and swept-back stubby wings on a round blended body, cast its shadow in the setting sun's reddish light. The jettisonable rocket boosters attached under the wings would accelerate it to Mach 1.5, then the main scramjet would hurl it to the fringe of the atmosphere before switching to anaerobic mode for the final boost to low orbit. The craft would then release its payload, a 150kg reconnaissance satellite. The workers still had to settle the craft on its launch rail. The resumed their toil with full stomachs after a two hour break. A hungry serf wasn't a productive one as any owner knew.

"You know, this planet can't be all desert, else how would the atmosphere even be breathable ? There has to be oceans at least." Rohm was commenting on the radio net.

"We'll know more when the satellite's online" answered Anton. "The workers are finishing the installation of the launch structure". They'd leveled a clear area 200 meters from the base camp, and were assembling the lightweight tubes and shafts of the launching ramp. It didn't have to be a very heavy job, has it only had to point the 20-ton ship upwards in the right direction. They hadn't bothered with a winch. Ten _Drakenses_ were more than capable of hoisting the craft up, and pull it in place with a simple rope. The rugged design was a product of Protracted Struggle planning, intended to provide rough launch capability in an all-out nuclear war war where most of the exiting orbital satellites and heavy launch facilities would have been destroyed. It hadn't been needed after the Final War, and the Space Force simply removed it from the deep mountain bunker it was stored in before sending it to Dante Base.

It was slightly past midnight when the whole assembly was completed. After the final checks, the Draka technical overseer entered the flight plan and unceremoniously triggered the final countdown. A routine announcement sounded on the net, then a deep rumble signaled the solid propellant boosters lighting up in a jet of yellow flame. The ship catapulted from the launch ramp and accelerated upwards, trailing a thick plume of smoke and fire, the thundering noise masking even its passing the sound barrier. Eyes, Draka and serfs alike, followed it with interest as it sped overhead like an inverted meteor, until the expended boosters detached and the less spectacular scramjet took relay, then turned back to whatever work they were doing.

The ship increased its breakneck pace steadily, reaching Mach 8 at the fringes of the stratosphere, and turbopumps switched on, feeding the voracious engine with the liquid oxygen it needed for the final surge to orbit. The man-made meteor shot into a never-ending fall taking it low over the planet's poles, and a panel opened on its nose, from where the gold-wrapped cylinder of the small observation satellite emerged slowly. After a couple of minutes ensuring enough separation with its former carrier, the little spy unfolded its wings of hair-thin solarfilm, and once satisfied with the quantity of life-bearing electrons flowing along its superconductor circuitry, began orienting itself to look at the planet below.

The small spaceplane, having successfully completed its mission, waited for the right moment and fired its thrusters, slowing it down to break orbit and begin reentry on a steep vector that would guarantee its fiery destruction in upper atmosphere, leaving no fragment bigger than a cherry to impact on the ground.

Meanwhile, the lone satellite streaked over the mysterious planet, filling its databanks with visual and infrared pictures to be burst-transmitted to its masters on the ground next time it would overfly them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – Why is it so hot here ?**

**Abydos, 300km South of Sandtrap**

**September 12h, 2010**

Asif loved his goats. He took great care of them, leading his herd to the best pastures, treating their injuries like he'd treat his own, talking to them as if they could understand, and he was sure they did. Didn't this cute little one always raise her head up when he called her name for the daily cuddle ?

One day, maybe, when he were older, he'd marry a woman of the tribe and have kids of his own. He wasn't anyone after all. His clan was among the most influent of the oasis, and its elders had sat for times immemorial at the Council. Very wise men, they were, transmitting their lore to the youngsters like him during the long desert nights around the communal meal. They told wonderful stories of great metal birds carrying strange men with eyes of fire, Gods sweeping from the sky to accept gifts from the tribe. Asif didn't know whether to believe them. They sounded so incredible... yet the tales were the only knowledge retained from the legendary times before the Exodus, when the Ancestors had abandoned the City of the Gods in order to spread in the world.

He was sitting on a small flat rock away from the houses, watching the herd from the corner of an eye and idly tracing abstract figures in the sandy soil, and his mind drifted off to the face of young Kasia, the thought of her youthful smile and budding womanhood sending tingles down his spine. Only two years before she were considered of nubile age at fifteen starcycles...

He was forced out of this thrilling reverie by a distant noise growing into a high-pitched whine unlike anything he'd heard before. It didn't sound like any animal he knew, even the death squeals of cattle. Stranger still, it came from... the sky ?

His head whipped up, eyes darting towards the source of the noise. It was there, a black speck in the blue cloudless sky. His desert people didn't know of many birds, and no insect would fly that high... The he spotted another dot following. He watched in fascination as the two dots traced circles over the oasis, like meatflies over a carcass.

Could it be that the old legends were right ? He dropped the drawing stick and jumped upright, eyes still fixed on the sky. The specks were growing larger, resolving into gleaming arrowheads. There was no doubt any more in Asif's mind. He bolted for the houses, tucked at the center of the verdant oasis.

He sprinted to the Elder's tree, the great old palm whose shadow sheltered the gathered patriarchs in afternoon discussion. The wrinkled, bearded ancient faces stared at him curiously as he stopped breathless in front of their semi-circle.

"The Gods... the Gods have returned !" he panted out, pointing his hand towards the pair of shining black shapes. Their piercing cry was covering the sound of daily life in the community, and around the place heads turned up in fear and awe. Voices were drowned out as they glided ever lower above the grassy square in front of the Elder's tree. A powerful wind blasted sand and dust in their face, and they averted their heads, squinting through the gaps between their fingers. At last, the metal birds landed on their extended legs, and the uncanny wind subsided along with the howl.

The assembled men stood up with the slowness of old age, too stunned to utter a single word.

Nothing happened during a few seconds, except popping and flexing noises from the great shapes ahead. Then a click and a hiss, as a panel opened up in the side of the crafts, black and featureless except for a blood-red drawing of a fantastic winged creature.

A ladder extended from under the opening, but the creatures inside didn't bother using it. They jumped down one by one, fanning out and taking protective positions between the transports and the assembling crowd. Gasps and exclamations shot out from faces frozen in wonderment at the sheer aspect of the visitors. The tales of old hadn't done the sky gods justice. They were huge, towering over the tallest men of the tribe, clad in bulky fully-covering grey black armor, faces invisible under closed, almost featureless helmets.

As the elders pondered what to do, the second vehicle opened similarly. This time, the gasps and exclamations were louder and impossible to hold, for the men and women of Asif's tribe were astounded at the creature descending the ladder at a stately, unhurried pace, every fluid movement exquisitely controlled and graceful. Features that were human, yet so otherworldly even the legends couldn't have prepared the oasis-dwellers for them. The man, clad in a form of armor that contoured his body shape and underlined his powerful musculature, stopped a few steps away from the elders and the tribe-folks gathered behind. They all shuddered as his gaze encompassed them. Eyes clear and serene, the glance of a shepherd appraising his flock, or a hunter assessing his prey. All of this still couldn't account for the feeling of awe, and the irresistible urge to kneel down and embrace the dirt before his feet. Which was exactly what the elders did, dropping to their knees and elbows, brows touching the earth, in the millennia-old posture of submission. Behind them, the clans did the same.

Merarch Anton de Polignac, a veteran of the Final War and the North-American Pacification campaign, had to rely on the spartan-like discipline he'd been ingrained with since childhood in order not to break into a wide grin and snicker. On the other hand, he could hear Daniel Jackson doing just that in his miniature earset, although the whole idea had been his in the first place.

"Hon'stly, those people are so primitive that when we show up in our flying cars and shining armor, they'll just kneel down and worship us as gods !" he'd boasted as the command staff was poring over the printouts of the oasis and its natives. Obviously, he'd been right on spot. The tribesmen were mesmerized by his dramatic appearance, and overwhelmed by the domination pheromones flowing out of the _Drakenses_ before them.

Bringing them under the Yoke would be a mere formality. Of course, they weren't much to look at, this dusty, primitive collection of semi-nomads and goat-herders. Be that as it may, they would be the first new serfs of the Star Domination of the Draka, which was something.

It was time to address the new slaves. He did so in the language they were speaking, recorded and sampled by scouts, and quickly processed and analyzed by Dr Jackson as a simplified form of Egyptian, which every member of the expedition was familiar with.

"Men and women of Abydos ! Raise and listen." he boomed, voice amplified and retransmitted by the powerful speakers on the aircars. "We are the Drakas, and we are, as of now, your masters. You will obey and address us as such. Submit and your lives will be fruitful. Resist, and you will die. Your old gods disappeared, and left you to rot in this desert. We will not, and we will take care of you."

It was blunt, but he didn't want to invent elaborate stories to smooth out the shock. The sooner those serfs understood and accepted their status, the better. Anyway, a team of the Slave Directorate would arrive later and begin the processing.

Murmurs were coming from the crowd. He could tell they were merely expressing surprise and curiosity instead of considering resisting. So much the better.

"Impostors ! You are not the Gods !" came a defiant cry.

Then maybe he'd have to make an example after all. A man, dark eyes and black beard, was standing among the kneeling shapes, his whole posture an expression of hostility.

_Oh no, Uncle Sayuf is having a fit again._ Asif glanced furtively at the upright figure. Uncle Sayuf had always had a... strange temper. The elders used to say it was because of his childhood accident, when he'd fallen from a palm tree and landed on his head. He'd been unconscious for a week, and never the same afterwards.

_Interesting. This feral here doesn't respond to pheromone control_, was Anton's own evaluation. _Can't let him rant and incite rebellion though, can we ?_

"Do you refuse to submit, slave ? Let it be clear... we are the master race, and we only reward insubordination with death." His posture didn't change, but his voice was colder, and his adjusted pheromone flow was now instilling a measure of fear in the crowd.

"We are not your slaves, impostor ! We grew free of gods, and we bow to no one, not even the lords of the Valley !" the angry man shouted back, walking towards him with a steady deliberate stride.

_Lords of the Valley ? Doubtlessly refers to that fertile river valley further East._ Anton filed the tidbit away. _For now, let's deal with the fool here._

The tribesman was an arm-length away, glaring up at the immobile Draka and preparing to speak again. Anton didn't leave him the time. Lightning fast, he adjusted his footing, pushing his right leg forward to ensure proper balance while his right hand shot forward, too fast for the man to react, and long fingers molded in carbon nanotubes and synthetic sapphire closed around the rebel's neck, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"As I said, the punishment is death." Anton said calmly, a thin smile breaking his impassive mask. And he started to squeeze, superhuman strength further augmented by the lithe artificial muscles of the softsuit.

His throat caught in a steel vise, the man thrashed and tried to free himself, frantically beating the crushing arm to no avail. His eyes bulged and his whole face reddened as air flow was constricted, yet the _Drakensis_ didn't settle for mere asphyxiation, his engineered predator instincts flaring in bloodlust as he drained the life off the feral human. His fingers squeezed ever tighter, overcoming the resistance of bones and soft tissue. The man's face was but a mask of pain, tongue swelling out and terrified eyes staring the Draka in silent supplication. Too late for that. In a final burst of strength, Anton closed his fist around the neck, bone snapping loudly, skin and muscle tearing under the iron grip. The unsupported head lolled aside, lifeless, while blood gushing from the torn arteries oozed over the officer's gloved hand and cascaded in thin streams to the ground, tainting the grass red.

Death relaxed the body and the stunned crowd recoiled from the sickening morbid smell of copper and shit, before the killer contemptuously released his grip, tossing the broken corpse aside like a rag doll.

The groveling natives were properly terrified by the display. Whoever those "Drakas" were, they possessed the attributes of the gods, and were every bit as unforgiving as the legends told. Submission was painless, after all, and they were but a lowly desert tribe.

xxx

_Itch_. Asif restrained himself from scratching at his neck, where the new masters had tattooed him with the mark of submission. The design was strange and deceptively unadorned, a simple collection of parallel lines in orange ink. But the most visible sign of his new status was the shiny metal bracelet he wore, similarly simple in design. The Masters told everyone, as the tribe was processed through the line, that it enabled them to track a servant's location at all times, and to punish one if he failed in his duties. A demonstration hadn't been necessary. Sayuf's fate had been enough for every man, woman and child to understand their new condition.

Maybe he should have been revolted. After all, his people had been proud of their lifestyle, free to roam in the desert when the Valley people toiled in muddy fields under the Lords' whip. But they were also fatalist, and nothing good could come from denying the truth. The new Masters, the Drakas, were certainly stronger, and expected to be obeyed.

And it wasn't as if they didn't give in return. Asif had witnessed them doing miracles. Like Mirna's newborn daughter, who'd been ailing in fever for days, her life-strength rapidly waning. The Elders were powerless, and all but the mother had resigned to the inevitable. Asif had been in the tent when the Draka woman had waved magical devices over the baby. She'd known exactly what the child was suffering from, and performed what she called an "injection". The baby recovered miraculously, and Mirna's clan had kissed the feet of the kind Master.

And they did the same for all the sick in the Oasis. Asif tongued his tooth. The one that had been lancing him ever since the previous month. Before the new Masters, the issue would have been painful. Sick teeth were pulled off, no matter the pain and the screams. But the Draka, no, she made all pain go away, and somehow cured the tooth.

Then there was the water. Asif's tribe didn't lack any, but sometimes it was muddy and gave the runs. Not anymore, as the Masters installed a magic box on the main well, and clear pure water always flew from it.

Things were looking good, even if the Masters were... strange in their ways. Like how the women didn't obey the men, and instead acted as equals. Or the glimpses of their... private behavior. The desert folks weren't overly prudish, but the Masters seemed to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh with an enthusiasm and lack of discretion that was... unsettling. Asif would remember that scene all his life, when he caught the two female Masters, naked and sweaty in a tent, doing outrageous things with their hands and kissing as if they were trying to eat each other's tongues. Not only was it considered very much improper for two women to act in such a way, but the way they did it... well, not even in his dirtiest dreams involving an older Kasia and himself had he considered such things possible.

And the most unsettling thing was, the two... lovers didn't look the least bit ashamed, or even surprised, by him stumbling in and dropping his jaw, wide eyes staring at their writhing, naked, and beautiful bodies. They laughed ! Far from sharing his embarrassment, they laughed, not stopping one moment their feverish thrusting as they looked at him with eyes shining in lust. Then he ran away even as his ears caught what couldn't be a invitation, no, as this was so preposterous. Mockery, certainly. He ran all the way to a pond, and plunged himself face first in the cold water. He spent several beats trying very hard to push the residual images away from his mind, and to bring his body back to a decent state.

xxx

**Abydos, Sandtrap Base**

**September 17th 2010**

The command post was much cooler than the scorching desert sun, something Daniel Jackson gladly appreciated. He and the expedition's leader were gathered, the open molehole providing two-way communication with Dante Base.

"So that's what we learnt and inferred so far. The planet's stuck at a pre-Iron Age level. When I say planet, I mean the relatively small part that's actually populated. The Gate lays more or less in the middle of the desert that covers half the main continent. It's separated from the tropical zone by a large mountain range. From what the oasis folks told us, four thousand years ago their "Gods" stopped coming. Which, incidentally, confirm my hypothesis regarding that Ra fellow we found mummified in Egypt. Their ancestors got bored from waiting, and parties were sent around to find a new home. Most never came back, swallowed by the desert. One did though, and found the oasis. Some time later, as population grew, the same thing happened, and a splinter group left for that big valley in the East, where they founded an agrarian civilization very similar to the Nile's."

Daniel paused, drank a few mouthfuls of water, then resumed.

"Like the Nile, the river supports life in a desert where life is extremely rare. It originates from the Southern mountains and curves East towards the ocean there. As far as the satellite shows, there aren't any human settlements anywhere else, courtesy of the distances involved and the lack of resources for a low-tech society to go exploring. It's a stagnant island of civilization in an empty world."

Polignac continued the report. "A world that's otherwise full of resources. We can start up a self-sustaining colony, in the worst case that we don't find how to come back. On that matter, the Lords of the Valley are supposed to possess artifacts dating back to the exodus. Hopefully, they will point us towards a return address. In an case, we're looking for a few hundred thousand new serfs."

He stopped, and looked at the faces on the screens. Archon Schrakenberg and Dominarch Schneider weren't exactly beaming, and he knew why.

The hard-featured triangular face of Deirdre Schneider was slightly frowning. She blinked and opened her mouth.

"This is all well an' good, Merarch. But, don't take it personally, this is disappointing. I understand we're looking to add a whole planet to the Domination, but in the meantime it doesn't help us at all if the aliens come back a-knocking."

"Except as a bolt-hole" Schrakenberg interjected.

"What do you mean, Excellence ?"

"In the unfortunate case that we suffer a... defeat in the Solar System, you'll still be there. Which is why I'm authorizing considerable material appropriations for Abydos. Our goal is now to build a functional and powerful colony over there, especially if you can't manage to gate back."

"Thank you, Excellence. Hopefully it won't come to this." answered Polignac.

"I hope so as well, Merarch. Service to the State !"

"Glory to the Race !" came the return, along with a stiff salute.

**Dante Base, Moon Far Side**

**September 23rd, 2010**

**1600Z**

Technically, Anton de Polignac was still Commander of Dante Base. Nevertheless, he was stuck on the other side, therefore Senior Director Thomas Rohm, of the Science Directorate, was acting as deputy CO. Still, that left him a lot of time to experiment and review the findings related to the Stargate Project. Nobody knew how the device worked yet, which was frustrating. Other endeavors were going better. Work on Energium was proving fruitful, even though it was done with a luxury of precautions since the tragic accident on Hephaestos.

Energium generator designs were pretty much complete. The problem was finding more of the stuff. It didn't seem to exist in the Solar System, which was frustrating. The team at Sandtrap had found some in ore form, and were doing their best to determine how to process it. Which compounded the fact that gate traffic was still one-way. The last months had seen an almost uninterrupted flow of men and materiel, all the necessary hardware to build a self-supporting colony. Machines, assembly fabs, plant seeds, animals, refined metals, disassembled heavy lift vehicles. Nothing came back except radio waves and reports.

The subjugation of the Valley was going smoothly. Well, mostly. Apparently, the "Lords" didn't take the idea of losing power kindly, and most of them ended on sharpened stakes along with their family and close circle. Rohm was pretty glad he didn't have to be there. Though not squeamish in any way, he felt much more at ease dealing with the polite, efficient serfs of the Science Directorate, and cold science. Pacification was a sometimes distasteful procedure, and _Drakenses_ were better suited to it anyway.

He was nibbling in the mess-cum-lounge, reviewing the latest theory on molehole travel when the shrill sound of Red Alert sounded through the base, sending a jolt into the facility. He jumped off the cushy seat and ran to the Operations Center, where serf technicians were scrambling to man all the consoles. Tetrarch Jourdain arrived on his heels, light body armor hastily thrown on her day uniform and loaded for bear.

"What's happening !" he half-shouted.

"Master, we have a Gate activation !" replied a frantic technician.

Rohm frowned. He watched the primary wall display. The big ring was indeed rotating, five chevrons locked already. The implications hit him immediately. Someone was dialing their gate ! He reviewed the last report from Sandtrap in his mind. They'd mentioned some archeological finds, but nothing conclusive. Could it be an attacker ?

In any case, the military was responding as planned, manning defensive positions in the Gate room and beyond. The seventh chevron locked and a stable molehole formed after the usual fountain effect.

All waited with bated breath.

Then the speakers came alive with the drawling voice of Merarch de Polignac.

"Dante Base, this is Sandtrap, calling home. Authentication codes follow."

A communications tech answered the inquisitive glance of Tetrarch Jourdain. "Codes received and verified, Master, it's Sandtrap !"

A very relieved Rohm spoke in the mike. "Merarch... ah... that's a surprise !"

"A good one, I hope" the chuckle was heard distinctly. "And please tell the lads not to shoot at me !"

Jourdain gave the necessary orders in her own commset, and a few seconds later the Gate display showed the grinning form of the Commander materializing out of the blue surface. Only to grimace horribly and soundlessly.

Rohm understood his mistake immediately and roared a frantic command. "Shit ! Re-pressurize the Gate Room, NOW ! Shit, shit, shit !" before hitting his forehead repeatedly on the cold concrete wall.

A wide-eyed Alexandra Jourdain grabbed him by the collar and dragged him along, running all the way through the base's corridors to the main garage, knocking over those few serfs who didn't evade her path in time. She headed towards a maglev car's access ramp, almost ripped off the door, and threw the howling scientist on a seat. The system recognized the human presence, and airtight panels shut closed as the access ramp detached itself from the vehicle. Jourdain didn't lose time, arrowing out of the exterior tunnel into the Rim, the car's powerful magnetic drive pushing it along the track buried in the regolith. She braked hard as they entered the tunnel leading to Complex B's own garage, the brutal deceleration throwing Rohm into the cushioned bulkhead separating the main passenger compartment from the driving cab. She ignored his swearing and opened the door as soon as external pressure lock was achieved. She barged out into the smaller facility, Rohm following on his own and still emitting powerful curses, both seemingly flying in the low-gravity corridors. At last they stormed in the Guard room, in the upper level.

"Where's the Commander !" she shot at the soldiers present, with more than a little anguish in her voice. They pointed wordlessly, whatever expression on their face hidden by the reflective visors of their battlesuits. Eyes followed the gestures, and both Jourdain and Rohm gave loud sighs of relief. A half-naked and bored-looking Anton was sitting on a metal chair, a medic poking and prodding at him with diverse medical implements.

"By the Spirit, Commander, you're not..." Thomas started.

"Dead ?" Anton interrupted, in an appropriately deadpan tone. The scientist nodded. "Well, I'm a Drakensis, it takes more than a little vacuum to kill me. Although its _was_ an unpleasant experience. May I suggest we firm up our transit procedures, now that we know how to travel back ?"

"Ah, about that... how...?"

Polignac waved the medic away, and started putting his uniform back.

"That's a long story. If you don't mind, I'd rather tell it later in the conference room. For now, there's nothing I want more than a good hot bath !"

Half an hour later, Anton was lying in a hot tub of water, sipping a glass of cognac and smiling contently as Jessica, the Yank farm girl he'd taken as his personal serf, rubbed and kneaded his taut leg muscles. His apartment's bathroom was small by Draka standards, but the view through the wide viewport level with the bath was a beauty, the harsh grey cliffs of the rim, unnaturally detailed without an atmosphere to blur distant horizons, overlooked by the black curtain of space speckled by the myriad blazing stars of the galaxy. One of which he knew housed the Domination of the Draka's new Abydos Colony.

Jessica's soft hands moved upwards, their white skin in contrast with the tan he'd gotten in the sun-scorched desert. She'd learnt a lot during that time. Tetrarch Jourdain had apparently taken good care of the little wench and told her a trick or two.

She was smiling too, obviously enjoying it. Well, she'd grown long past her puritan Yank upbringing. He suspected that deep down, a small part of her core personality still hated him for killing her mother. It was very natural, and as long as she kept it repressed and didn't forget her place, he didn't mind. Actually, it aroused him. Taming her had been thoroughly enjoyable, if a little rough. Oh well, others would have called it rape, though Draka society didn't recognize any such thing between a Master and his, or her, slave.

She's responded beautifully to his pheromones, even as he took her forcefully for the first time, barely two days after her capture. She'd thrashed and kicked and her resistance had made it all the more pleasurable, but her confused brain had finally broken in and he'd felt her orgasming tightly around him, weeping all the way to the conclusion, first in pain and despair and then in ecstasy.

The memory achieved to whip him up, and he tossed the empty glass aside, confident in the low gravity for it not to break. His powerful arms reached down and grabbed the squealing blonde creature's hips. He turned her around and she bent obediently, her round breasts squeezed on the black marble, hands outstretched towards the window as if to grab a handle on the distant peaks. She gave a small cry as he slapped her offered butt, then gasped as he slid inside her. He didn't really bother with her pleasure, thrusting hard and fast as he needed to finish before the debriefing. Still, he released her ten minutes later flushed and panting, her whole body shivering in the aftershocks of climax.

He left her in the warm bath and dried himself, then put on a fresh uniform.

His public was waiting.

**Dante Base, Moon Far Side**

**Conference Room**

**1900Z**

"Glad to see you back, Commander" Governor Ingolffson was smiling was smiling at him on the composite display, next to the faces of Archon Schrakenberg and Dominarch Schneider.

"Indeed, and we're all impatient to learn how you did it, I reckon" added the the head of the Supreme General staff.

"Let me tell yo' then," Anton started.

"When we moved against the Lords of the Valley, we had pretty good intel, from the Oasis people, technical surveillance and plain old "capture and question" work. We started with the bigger ones and worked our way down, typically executing the rulers in front of their subjects, and making the point that as of now, they were _our_ subjects. Which, primitive folks as they were, they generally accepted quite well. Some tried to put up an armed resistance, but bronze swords and bows just don't cut it, pardon the pun, against cermet armor" a pause and chuckles coming from the displays.

"Case in point, that bigwig Mar'kef. He ruled a large segment of the upper valley, deriving wealth from his mining outposts in the lower mountains. Meaning that while he didn't have much in the way of fertile land, his army was among the best equipped, and the lords downstream were always wary of him trying to grab their territories. Not that they care anymore, but I digress. He had his big stone palace set back against steep mountain slope, a perfect defensive position against his usual foes. Having had word that we were on the way, he'd arrayed his troops before the fortified walls, and they were impressive, for what they were, a pre-Iron Age army. All clad in leather and bronze plate, in neat ranks, the swordsmen in front of the archers and more on the wall itself.

So what did we do ? We could have simply used our heavy weapons and annihilated them from a distance. But that wouldn't have been fair, would it ?"

He paused dramatically, leaning forward.

"So instead we opted to give them a fair fight. No firearms, only our armor and edged weapons."

Eyes brightened and teeth showed in predatory smiles, an air of understanding appearing on every face.

"Yo' telling us you went hand-to-hand with a bunch of savages ?" Schneider asked, laughing. "That must have been fun !"

"Indeed Dominarch, it was. A mere forty of us against a thousand ferals. Well, the fight wasn't exactly fair after all, because half an hour later they were all dead, with nary a bruise on our side. Oh, we had a drone recording the battle, so you'll be able to watch the whole show later. Just don't show it to your serfs, it might turn their sensitive stomachs" he chortled, bringing tears of mirth in his superior officer.

"Then we stormed the wall. I don't know what Mar'kef found the most unbelievable, that we slaughtered his field army or that we jumped up his five meter rampart. So he was staring at us all goggle-eyed, when I approached him, my battlesuit all dripping blood. Guess what he did ? He pissed himself. In front of his whole court ! And he tried to run ! Didn't go far though, caught him two steps away. We executed him later, after we'd rounded all the peasants. Actually, we spared his wife, as Dr Jackson was quite, well, interested in her figure." he snickered. "Pretty dark-haired wench"

"So I take it that Jackson stayed over there ?" asked Schrakenberg.

"Affirmative. He was very interested in the ancient engravings we found in the palace, and in questioning the local scribes for background information. And that led us to the most significant discovery. Turns out Mar'kef's ancestors took some souvenirs from Ra's temple during their Exodus. One of them was a stone panel displaying hundreds of inscriptions."

"From your expression, I take it they weren't cooking recipes ?" Schneider quipped, arching her eyebrows.

"Actually, we quickly recognized them for what they were... stargate addresses. The first one being Earth's, or rather, Tau'ri in the Goaul'd's language."

"I reckon the Goaul'ds are those parasitic aliens who attacked Earth ?"

"Indeed. It is likely that many of those coordinates lead to planets under their occupation, so we'll have to explore them methodically."

"And hopefully find interesting technology !" Rohm added.

Schrakenberg nodded and wrapped up the meeting. "Very good. Now that you're back on track, I expect you to pursue exploration using those coordinates. Merarch, you will bring your teams back from Abydos. We'll appoint a planetary governor to take charge there. And good work."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – The kiss of the snake**

**Dante Base, Moon Far Side**

**September 26th, 2010**

**1400Z**

"Doctor Jackson. Now that you've had a few hours to rest, we'd like to hear your most recent findings. Including any theory as to why most of the gate addresses on the tablet don't seem to work". Anton was speaking for everyone present in the Conference Room.

The initial elation at the establishment of two-way travel between Abydos and Luna had been short-lived, owing to the fact that half the tablet's coordinates had yielded no result when the operators had tried to dial them. The remaining were still being worked on, even as the commander was addressing Jackson, Rohm and a few serf technicians in a very annoyed tone.

Daniel adjusted his notes, coughed and started to speak.

"Well... frankly, I don't have a clue. I mean, those coordinates all make sense. From the sheer quantity of them, and the baseline of Abydos and Earth, we can even guess where the actual destinations should be in the galaxy."

Rohm interrupted him with an irritated frown.

"Maybe they seem to make sense, because I've been reviewing a handful of those locations with the large telescope array in Pluto orbit. Well, guess what ? There's nothing but empty space !" he stammered. "Those supposedly spatial coordinates lead to nothing ! The closest star system was light-days away !"

Then, something unusual happened. One of the technicians standing near the end of the table, a small _servus_ female in the grey outfit of the Science Directorate junior serfs, timidly raised her hand, and almost recoiled when three pairs of Draka eyes converged on her.

"What is it, Mischa ?" Rohm's outburst was a bit harsher than the serf deserved, and he blamed his own frustration for that. "Speak out" he added with a calmer voice.

The woman's eyes darted from side to side, and she answered gingerly.

"Er, Masters, I think I may have an idea why the coordinates don't work" she paused, still unsure whether she was doing a good thing by daring speak out.

"Well, tell us, then, we're not going to kill you if you're wrong, you should know that !" Anton's voice was mellow and he was deliberately adjusting his pheromone flow to make the serf more at ease.

She took a quick breath and blurted out her theory.

"I think those coordinates are out of date"

"Well, they're four thousand year old, but... oh, wait -" realization dawned on Rohm's face.

"-stellar drift would account for the discrepancy between address coordinates and the current location of the gates" Mischa finished, her timidity almost forgotten.

A few seconds passed in silence, then Rohm broke it.

"Yank on a stake, you're right ! Abydos being the closest to Earth, the address was still valid. But the farthest ones have to be adjusted – yes, it makes sense now !"

"How long would it take ?" Anton interjected.

"On the top of my head... it's a fairly complex calculation, but the navcomps on our ships perform similar tasks. We should be able to write the proper algorithms and design an optimized compinset... especially with help from some of the ex-Alliance compscience experts we have... yes, and we can correlate the results with observations from our deep space instruments ! This should speed up things quite a bit" the Draka scientist rattled in an excited voice.

"Make it happen, then" Anton addressed the whole table with a decisive tone. "I want updated and working addresses on my desk as soon as you can get them !"

The seated Drakas got up, and all walked hurriedly out of the room, eager to get started on the job.

"Not you, Mischa" the Drakensis added. The little woman halted in her tracks and looked up expectantly. "It was quite smart of you. I think you should take a little break right now. In fact, you deserve a reward."

The grey eyes brightened up under the serf's shoulder-length auburn hair. She was very cute, actually, as _servi_ were engineered to be. Oh well, it wasn't as if the folks couldn't work without him.

_An hour later..._

"Oh my God... oooh... Ah ! Please stop it !" Mischa was moaning, but she didn't actually mean her pleading. She was bathing in ecstasy, her mind numb with endorphin release, having lost count of the number of orgasms she had in the Commander's decadent marble bath. Not that the powerful Draka was the sole source of her pleasure, even though Mischa's brain was smothered in the "let's fuck – orgasm NOW ! - get wet – submit - orgasm AGAIN !" chemical messages the Drakensis' scents were sending. The Master's personal servant was very much to thank for, with her lithe fingers and agile tongue. Through her blurred eyes and lowered eyelids, Mischa could see Jessica's blonde mane firmly lodged between her thighs, even as she felt Anton's large hands squeezing and massaging her abused nipples. The exquisite sensation complemented rather than competed with the thrilling electric waves coming from below, as Jessica's tongue prodding and flitting gave a fitting counterpoint to the long rhythmic strokes of the New Race's... generously designed endowments.

She moaned again under the hot half-kiss half-bites of Anton's hungry mouth, and cried helplessly as her flesh surrendered, again, to the duo's unbridled lust.

**Aresopolis, Moon Near Side**

**Sub-level 40, Computer Engineering Lab**

**September 29th, 2010**

**2130Z**

"Hey baby, hand me this dataplaque – no, the red one, thanks" Alyanna recognized the distracted tone of her master, and opted to obey silently so as not to break his concentration. He was very busy working on a new compinstruction set, and while Alyanna was primarily trained as a personal servant, she was a Literate, and fairly smart, enough to know that her master's task was very important. Which meant she had to provide a supportive environment and manage the material aspects of everyday life. This included reminding Master Stuart he had to eat at regular intervals, so engrossed he could become in his labor.

The neo-Citizen was a nice person in any case, although Alyanna was sometimes perplexed by his rather odd habits. When other Masters weren't present, he had a deeply unnerving tendency to treat her as an equal – very improper, and not something a well-bred _servus_ was comfortable with. His bedside manners were quaint too, although he'd made some progress since she'd resolved to very gently "educate" him on acceptable sexual behavior. She remembered the first month she'd been her servant. How dull the nights had been ! Didn't the people in the Alliance learn there were other ways to do it than the bizarrely named "missionary position" ? No wonder they'd lost the war then. Thank the Race, her tactful guidance had borne fruit, and he at last knew how to use his tongue for purposes other than tasting food. Although they'd done some very creative things with chocolate-flavored algae jelly...

Her innocent musings were eventually interrupted by a loud "YEEHA !", and her master springing up from the padded chair to do his "victory dance". She had to refrain from bursting into giggles. Master Stuart had his hands locked behind his head, and was pumping his pelvis suggestively at the console. Yet another of his charmingly eccentric quirks. Then he turned toward her, a large proud grin on his face.

"Who's the best, eh ? It's Papa Gates pimping your compsets, oh yeah ! Nobody else on Luna could complete a new algorithm design in two fucking days, no no no ! Who's the boss, eh, baby ?" he boasted jubilantly.

"You are the boss, Master !" she replied, dazzling smile flashing perfect white teeth. A few seconds later, she added "Maybe we should celebrate your success, Master ?" in a voice turned very, very sultry, the light in her hooded eyes leaving no doubt as to how she intended to do it.

Stuart Gates' mind turned to automatic, and his last conscious thought that evening was "That's the life, fuck yeah !"

**Dante Base, Complex A, Primary CompCore Vault**

**October 3rd, 2010**

**1900Z**

"Well, that softie did a really impressive job... I'd never have thought anyone could deliver a new compinset design in so few days day" Rohm commented as the technicians finished plugging power and date cables on the brand new logic core just flown in from Aresopolis.

"I suppose you checked it for any... unwanted surprise ? This Gates fellow's an ex-Yank after all" Anton replied, his keen eyes detailing the rows of parallel logic boards, all of them clones containing Stuart Gates' highly optimized circuits, designed to crunch through numbers in a very specific and efficient way. The engineer hadn't been told to what purpose, only given a sheet of mathematical formulas and instructed to work his magic on them. The resulting design had been checked by the best Draka specialists, deemed clear of any tampering, and sent to a very secure automated fabbing plant where unthinking machines had patterned Gates' schematics into nanoscale optical circuitry and laser emitters.

The resulting core was pretty much useless for anything else, but its massively parallel, lightning fast architecture could theoretically crunch through stellar drift calculations like a starved ghouloon through a bunch of feral children. Its output would be correlated against observation data from the various visual and radio-spectrum arrays in the Solar System. It was expected that the first set of addresses would be broken in two days, with another two days to finish the checks.

It was also a testament to the Project's importance that such a machine had been specially constructed for such a limited purpose.

"I wonder if your Gates character would have worked so diligently, had he known the exact use of his design" mused Anton.

"Mmmm, he's actually blended quite enthusiastically in the Citizen way of life... although he'll never fool anyone as to his origins, of course. But yeah, all our Softie specialists are carefully kept in the dark regarding their contributions to the Project" Thomas elaborated.

"You know what would be funny ?"

Rohm arched his brow in curiosity.

"If we found a Gate in Centauri and went there before the New America" Anton stated.

"I've entertained this idea since we found the Gate's purpose, you know. Although from what I've seen so far, it's not probable"

"Pity. We'd crush them just as they'd believe themselves to be out of our reach. An appropriate twist of fate for those bastards" the officer added dreamily.

"Anyway, we almost know for sure that FTL travel is possible now. It's only a question of time until we discover how" the scientist replied firmly, picturing his special welcome committee in his head, under the shape of a massive particle gun.

The senior technician came to attention in front of the Drakas, his team having completed their task.

"Masters, I'm pleased to report the core is ready for activation" he announced in a crisp, formal tone.

"Very well. Report to the Operations Center with your team. The Commander and I will seal the door." the white-haired Draka ordered. _And if there's the slightest glitch, your ass will bleed_ his mind added.

**Unnamed star system, 34000 LY from Earth**

**System Lords Alliance Hatak _Staff of Might_**

Karl'ac stifled a yawn. A former Lord of his own star systems, he'd been demoted, following a series of inevitable defeats and unlucky events, by Lord Yu's right-hand (a hand that did many jobs) the goddess Chiang-Mu. Well, as a fellow Goaul'd, Karl'ac wasn't fooled by the "god" pretense. And he'd been entertaining a festering grudge against the stunningly beautiful, and utterly intractable, woman.

And now he had to listen to yet another of Lord Dhakhan's inane speeches. Yeah yeah, Apophis was an evil bastard, and he ate baby symbiotes, and his Jaffas were all sodomites, and they would cower in fear at the first sight of Dhakhan's mighty staff. He'd heard it all already.

For all his blustering, Dhakhan was an unimaginative commander, but his... proximity with the Powers-That-Be ensured he had the best ships available, a far cry from Karl'ac's former fleet. Idly, the demoted Goaul'd wondered what kind of sexual favors could have led Dhakhan to his current position. Gossip was hard to come by at Yu's court, as gossipers had an unfortunate tendency to disappear in torture chambers.

"...and today we will smash the usurper's Camulus' feeble armies, then feast on the broken ruins of his palace before raping his concubines !" rambled the dark-skinned lord, his golden loincloth a beacon of light on the raised dais he was addressing his troops from. He was thrusting his staff of command in the air to underline every other word, and his massive gold necklace shone bright on his glimmering black chest. He continued in the same vein, oblivious to the fact that many of his seconds-in-command were doing their best to hide yawns behind facades of polite interest.

"Nobody dares resist my might for I, Lord Dhakhan, will personally flay the skin off their nose and feed it to them ! Victory is assured, the weak Camulus is cowering on his throne world ! When I come for him, he'll try miserably to escape by putting on a woman's disguise ! Ha ha ha !" Dhakhan's bombastic prattle was mercifully interrupted by a chime, and Chiang-Mu's severe face appeared on the overhead's triangular viewscreen.

Every Jaffa and Goaul'd present smartly came to attention, all boredom forgotten, and Dhakhan turned towards her presence, bowing with a servile expression on his face, and found his best obsequious voice.

"Most honorable and exalted Lady..." he started.

"Enough, we don't have time for pleasantries !" she cut him. "Are your forces ready to assault Camulus' throne world ?"

"Yes, my Lady, we will crush and smash him like a..."

"You'll gloat after your victory, Dhakhan, not before ! I don't need to remind you of the strategic importance of this operation, do I ?"

Dhakhan gulped. The coordinated offensive he was but a part of was to break the current stalemate between the System Lords' Alliance and Anubis' Ascendant Supremacy. Dhakhan's attack on Camulus' prime planet would, if successful, accomplish two goals : prevent reinforcements to enter the fight against the main push, and deprive the Supremacy of a valuable, rich and productive world.

Needless to say, a failure would also spell the end of the ambitious Goaul'd's career. Not a prospect he entertained, and for that reason he was prepared to ride very hard on his subordinates.

"Of course not, my Lady ! I won't disappoint you... as always !" he finished with a small flourish.

"Good. Finish your preparations, then, the attacks begins in three divs." Chiang-Mu cut the transmission before Dhakhan had chance to answer.

He pivoted back and glowered at his subordinates.

"You heard the Lady ! Stop loafing around and get to your posts !"

Karl'ac sighed in relief and headed to the hangar bays at a brisk pace. He had all the time to check the systems on his Al'Kesh, but the sooner he was out of sight and hearing of those buffoons, the better.

The big lethal looking bomber was cradled in the restraints that also provided it with standby power, one ship in a squadron of twelve, all similarly arrayed on one side of the bay, facing the smaller and more numerous Death Gliders that would escort them in.

The rest of his three-Jaffa crew wasn't inside yet. He sat in the command chair, made himself comfortable, and started his pre-flight checks, a tap on the console bringing the onboard naquadah reactor online. Internal lights flicked on, illuminating the plain unadorned bulkheads. With the large quantities of materiel needed for the ongoing war, it had been decided to skimp on unnecessary decoration for the cannon-fodder. Even the new Hataks were less lavishly furnished, but what they lacked in creature comforts they'd gained in lethality.

A stomping noise behind signaled the arrival of the Jaffas assigned to his command. Karl'ac craned his neck around to see who they were. One, two stone-faced warriors saluted, then the third stumbled into view.

_Oh hell, no_.

"Milord Karl'ac ! Lord Dhakhan sent me back to serve you again !"

"Bal'drikh, your station's in the tail turret ! Kree !" the exasperated Goaul'd scowled.

_Now that's adding insult to injury. I swear, I'll frag Dhakhan's ass if the opportunity arises !_

**Dante Base, Complex A, Briefing Room**

**October 4th, 2010**

**1100Z**

"Gentlemen, this is a go, then. Report to the Gate room with your gear in two hours."

The tension accumulated during the morning's briefing was released in a flurry of movement. As the Drakas of Polignac's command filed out of the underground amphitheater with the Race's usual economy of movement, he looked up at the giant screen again. It was displaying the panoramic picture taken around the target stargate by a spider drone, and the relevant facts, which were few. The destination was an Earth-like planet, heavily forested around the gate, with radio noise indicative of industrial machinery, yet no voice or data traffic. Temperatures were in the low 20s centigrade, and the state of the vegetation indicated late spring. The air was surprisingly pure, and devoid of any detectable harmful substance. The spider hadn't encountered anyone on exiting the molehole, but foot prints abounded around, and the scout had tucked itself up on a tree, its chameleon skin mimicking its environment, a silent and virtually invisible spy.

Biodrones had followed. Externally, they looked like small birds, creatures of flesh and bone. Internally, a cursory dissection wouldn't find anything untoward as well. They were even quite tasty. Yet, they were the product of Draka genengineering, programmed to accept commands transmitted by pulsed radio-waves, and their brain contained an innocuous organic addition to their memory centers. The first generation of Draka neural implant, designed to record whatever the drone saw, felt and heard during its mission, as well as interpret orders. The same kind of technology was expected to reach _Drakenses_ soon and give them unprecedented command over their machines, as well as a massive memory storage.

The flying scouts had explored the gate's vicinity, and what they'd found was a far cry from the barren Abydos desert. The forest encircled the Gate for kilometers, but further West laid a large city dominated by an impressive palace set on the overlooking hill. And while it might have looked like a medieval castle, its towers and crenellations sported Jaffa guards and beefier, fixed versions of the staff gun. Formations of warriors patrolled the town's narrow streets between wooden two- or three-story houses. And what had sent Rohm almost drooling were the ranks of aircraft in the fortress' courtyards. Some were small and looked like fighters, but others were much bigger, lacked wings, and obviously were space-capable.

Other, smaller and simpler settlements laid around, surrounded by lush crop fields. No doubt they were the bread-basket of the city. Peasants were seen working them or tending cattle. Agricultural resources, something Earth sorely lacked these days. Although colonization of Abydos should remedy that in a few years time.

Given the primary intel, Anton had decided to launch a significant infiltration effort through the stargate. Hopefully, examples of Goaul'd technology could be retrieved, and possibly prisoners too. The research on the dead symbiotes found in Egypt was promising, but having live ones would be even better.

The focus on stealth meant sending light infantry instead of a full-on assault cohort with Ghouloons and battle armored Drakas, although those would remain on standby, ready to gate through and reinforce the off-world units.

And Anton had made clear that he'd lead the spearhead. Not that anyone had openly contested his decision, but he'd seen the disapproving look on Tetrarch Jourdain's face. Especially as she would stay behind to monitor the situation, and if necessary send the reinforcements through.

The six soldiers of the expedition would therefore wear the latest scout battlesuit, and bring only light weapons.

Breaking out of his musings, the Draka commander followed his troops out of the briefing room, and headed to his office instead of going directly to the armory. Taking a dusty looking bottle out of a wooden cabinet, he poured himself a shot of century-old cognac and swallowed it. He didn't risk getting drunk, and, well, it would be a shame to leave the precious liquid untouched if he never came back. He took a few minutes to record a "just-in-case" message, and update his will. Jessica should be well with Tetrarch Jourdain.

Those formalities accomplished, he took a deep breath, shrugged and left the room with a decided step, the armored door locking automatically behind him.

In the base's primary armory, his team had already begun putting on their battlesuits. A technician saluted and brought Anton's, helping him undress then fit the internal plumbing of the suit. The scout battlesuit was a marvel of engineering, the culmination of developments started well before the Final War. It was form-fitting and made of several flexible layers, from the innermost bodyglove, regulating temperature and humidity levels as well as containing biomonitoring sensors and medical compounds designed to stop bleeding and accelerate a Drakensis' already impressive regeneration abilities, to the reinforced outer skin, itself a combination of intricately waved carbon-beryllium and superconducting fibers, smart environmental sensors, and a film of mimetic material. The skin's own toughness was complemented by an underlying 1mm layer of kinetic reactive gel. Lastly, synthetic muscle sheets were arrayed between bodyglove and outer skin in patterns repeating and augmenting the wearer's own strength. While not as strong as power armor's combination of synthmuscle and servos, it still tripled a Drakensis' force, which was considerable to begin with, and was able to protect him from most small arms. The Aresopolis weapons lab had also made sure it offered adequate shielding against the plasma blasts of the captured staff guns.

The main weak point was the helmet's visor, as a burst of rifle fire could fracture the five millimeter glascrys, with unpleasant consequences for the head behind.

Anton waited immobile as the tech checked the suit's internal diagnostics system, then unplugged the fiber optic connexion from his perscomp.

"All systems green, Master. Your suit is in perfect condition" he gave a thumb-up and stood by.

Farther in the armory, similar scenes were repeated on a larger scale as the power-armor tetrarchy fitted the metal juggernauts. Limbs encased in two-centimeter thick cermet moved through their entire range of motion to test the vacuum-proofed articulations, the blocky visor-less helmets remaining immobile as internal projections followed the operator's head movements. Massive hands flexed, capable of tearing through steel armor with ease, and the ground shook as the first ready soldiers took tentative steps, the low gravity barely lessening the effect of a 400-kilogram three-meter tall biped walking around.

_If the shit hits the fan, I'm glad those lads will come to the rescue_, was the thought on everyone else's mind.

The infiltrators finished their preparations. The commander personally inspected his carbine, firing the same caseless rounds as the standard infantry rifle minus an integral smart grenade launcher, and the six 50-round cassettes he would take on the trip, slapping one in the weapon, strapping two at his side, and carefully laying the rest in his backpack. Next items were the two pistols, chambered in 10mm, which despite a rather ordinary appearance, could operate in vacuum as well as underwater, thanks to the lubricant-free frictionless coating on the moving parts and the space alloy's high tolerance to temperature variations. Anton added four 12-round magazines in the belt holsters and six more in reserve. He smiled as he ran his gloved finger against the razor-sharp edge of his combat knife. Another miracle of zero-gee engineering, the layered blade was self-sharpening and extremely hard to nick. It went into its chest sheath with a satisfying absence of noise.

A couple of grenades joined the weapons, as well as sundry tools and lethal implements. You were never prepared enough. A few blocks of explosives with assorted detonators went into the pack, covered by rations and emergency medical kit. The backpack itself was designed with the same stealth considerations as the suit.

Anton finished to find his troops arrayed in a semi-circle around him. His wordless question was answered by grins and thumbs-ups, and he nodded serenely.

"Let's go."

**Complex B**

**1300Z**

_Wooosh !_ The now familiar sound of a molehole's opening filled the gate room. The six-man away team was standing in front of the reaction force, ready to storm the gate at a moment's notice. The firepower arrayed in the pressurized expanse was impressive in its own right, from the power- and battle-armored soldiers to the waiting aircars, lightly protected but fast and nimble. It was a pity that the gate was too small to accommodate a proper gunship.

Of course, they weren't supposed to fire a single shot. A simple reconnaissance mission. What could go wrong ? Anton snorted. Yeah, right. He'd bring an _Imperator_-class cruiser if it could fit through the ring.

"All right, we're going in. Contact at two-hour intervals."

"Don't forget the postcards" came Jourdain's mischievous reply.

**Destination planet Bellenos**

**30000 LY from Earth**

**Midnight local time**

"I'm not sure I could ever get used to this" Rayner commented at the end of their journey through the molehole.

"It's certainly impressive... unlike this place" added a third soldier, faceless under the helmet.

"What, yo' don't like trees ?" mockingly answered his comrade, elbowing his ribs.

"Can the chatter, we're in feral territory now. Activate your camouflage." Anton ordered, a serious tone in his demeanor.

They complied and subvocalized the command. Instantly, the mimetic coating of the suits adjusted to the night environment, abstract designs of gray and black breaking the Drakas' outlines and enabling them to literally melt in the shadows. They were all highly trained and experienced, hand-picked by Anton among the best soldiers of a culture fanatically devoted to martial prowess. After several months of drilling together, they didn't need words to understand each other, and a subtle shift in posture was usually all the hint they needed. Therefore, it was in complete silence that the squad fell behind Anton and slithered in the woods.

Orientation wasn't a problem. The drones had collected enough data about the area, and the planet's magnetic field, that the suits' navigation system would lead them wherever they wanted. The difficulty was making way through the dense forest, out of the tracks used by Jaffa patrols, without leaving footprints, broken twigs, crushed vegetation and similar telltales of their passage. The terrain was fortunately very similar to the vast forested expanses of North America, where Anton and his troops had been hunting feral guerillas for the last ten years, and the experience accumulated against the desperate, and murderous, ex-Alliance stay-behind troops came back into play, enabling them to ghost through the woods until they reached a clearing. It was an agricultural enclave, grain fields surrounding a small collection of timber huts. The inhabitants had to be asleep. Anton made a small hand gesture, and a soldier stepped forward, kneeling close to the wood-line. He reached into his backpack and removed the black cylinder of a thermal imager, set it on a collapsible tripod, then plugged in a data cable from his suit. A flick of a switch and the powerful observation device started to send its take to every suit's visualization system, a miniaturized laser array painting the picture directly onto the wearer's retinas.

The huts were all dark, but the imager captured the warm, immobile horizontal shapes of humans sleeping. Another soldier had deployed the antennas of his portable electronic snooper, the memory metal obeying a subtle electric impulse to unfold and quest for electromagnetic waves, including those emitted by a heartbeat. The result confirmed the infrared picture, and the absence of any unshielded electrical circuit operating.

Anton motioned towards the closest hut, 300 meters away from their position. Three dormant shapes laid inside. Then, he gestured the new orders. One minute later, he headed out of the forest with two men, leaving Rayner and the rest to cover them. It took them thirty seconds to cross the fields, silent and blurry as ghosts. They flattened themselves against the walls, ears straining to catch any change in conditions. Ten seconds later, they made their way to the hut's door, a crude panel of hacked wood. The lock was a simple bar, and could be opened from the outside. The soldiers smirked under their faceshields. Easy. Those peasants' lords probably liked to be able to intrude anytime. Well, the Drakas could certainly relate.

The lead man carefully lifted the block, and moved the door quietly, avoiding any loud squeak. He then stepped inside, followed by his two comrades. They scanned the interior. Compacted dirt soil, single room, a small stone fireplace, two rough chests and a large bed set against the back wall, close to the fireplace. The Drakas crept close, inhaling the unwashed scent of the ferals and listening to the regular breathings. Anton gave an imperceptible nod, and a medical injector appeared in the third soldier's hand. He used it on the three resting bodies, administering a mix of dociline and soporific agents. After that, the men hefted their captives in a fireman's carry, and left the house, proceeding back to the woods and the other group.

The biodrones had provided a map of the area, and there was a ridge four kilometers away, closer to the city. Which meant a good position for hiding, and observing.

It took three hours for them to reach it, most of the time spent making sure they didn't leave a trail. By early dawn, the six Drakas and their three human prisoners were settled snugly in a natural cave formation overlooking the way they'd came, a scant dozen meters away from the top and a view of the city itself on the distant horizon. Sensors kept a eye on it and the immediate perimeter to supplement the soldiers' watch.

Dante Base had dialed on schedule and stayed appraised of the situation. All in all, it was a good start.

***

"Look at them. Malnutrition, bad teeth, not a trace of vaccination in their blood... Hygiene, let's not talk about it, the smell's enough. No Draka would treat his property like that. What are those stupid aliens thinking ?" Rayner was only voicing the questions every member of the team had in mind after examining the sleeping captives. Their own experience as masters of slaves was a far cry from what they'd found on Bellenos. The aliens, the "Goau'ld" (the name still sounded weird and unfamiliar) didn't show much concern for their human chattel. Not even basic healthcare. And they kept those farmers in a less-than-medieval state. Draka plantations were deliberately kept technically backwards in regard to mechanization, in order to justify their large contingent of serf manpower, but this was different.

There could be only one logical explanation. One that Anton had reached a few minutes ago, and was going to share it with his command.

"It gives us some insight as to their psychology, people. Think about it. We know they think of themselves as Gods, at least that's what they tell others. Yet, it appears that superior technology is their only advantage." He paused, letting the facts sink in, looks of understanding appearing on the other Draka faces.

"We think of ourselves as natural masters – but we don't only pretend, we actually are. The Old Ones used to train from childhood to be superior fighters. We still do, and we're engineered that way too. We are, objectively, superior to our serfs. Serfs that, in recent history, we conquered even as their technology was equivalent to ours. Basically, we do everything we can to _be_, not merely_ look_, superior. A Draka doesn't rely solely on technical toys to enforce his Will. Those Goaul'ds, they do. And as such, they need to keep their slave population in such a primitive state, and the scale of their empire means they can get away with the very low efficiency."

The soldiers were still listening intently, even though they knew where the commander was heading.

"We, on the other hand, wouldn't be satisfied with reigning on half-starved slaves. Not only would they not be very useful, but where would the glory be in that ? We can afford being kind to our servants, because we don't fear them overturning our rule. Because the Race made itself to be a true master race.

Those Goau'lds, they don't. They're just parasites with fancy tech, relying on lies to keep their slave population in line."

Only silence greeted the conclusion. Its meaning was clear for all. Assuming they could reach rough technological parity, the Domination would sweep the Goaul'ds away. Of course, there was still a lot they didn't know about the new enemy, and the slightest mistake could spell total disaster. Furthermore, the Goaul'ds being aliens meant the Drakas couldn't count on their psychology being quite as predictable and pliable as the Domination's terrestrial enemies' had been. Every Draka was sufficiently familiar with history to know that the Race's success came not only from its cunning and ruthlessness, but also, in a large part, from its enemies' less than optimal choices. This series of fortunate outcomes had led to the Draka's firm belief in their manifest destiny, although they took great care not to become blinded by hubris.

Which was why they were cautiously probing their way into the hostile galaxy, in order to learn all they could about its dangers.

Marek's mind slowly rose from its deep, dreamless slumber. His skin was cold under the rough fabric of his peasant's rags. The air was slightly damp, and he shivered as he felt lumpy rock under his back. He did what most people do when they're waking up, mind still stuck halfway between slumber and consciousness : he yawned and rubbed his grit-encrusted eyes. Opening them, he found himself staring at rock. Odd, that, he didn't remember entering a cave... in fact, the last thing he remembered was going to bed with his wife and daughter, sharing the warmth as generation of peasants had done since time immemorial.

He should have been unnerved, waking up cold in an unfamiliar dark setting. In fact, and strangely, he felt good. His now fully conscious mind was aglow with a warm and fuzzy mood, although he certainly hadn't drunk any firewater lately, or smoked any laughgrass. Those were carefully hoarded and handed by the village elders anyway. He turned his head. The two women were laying down a couple of feet away, peacefully asleep and huddled together.

He decided not to disturb them. It was best to determine where he was first, and how they'd gotten there. He stood up with some difficulty. His legs were slightly wobbly and he leant on the rock wall as much to steady himself as to feel his way forward. He started to move down the cave, his steps becoming firmer as motion dispelled weakness. Turning a bend, he picked out a faint glow. It was no firelight, of that he was certain. The tint was off, and it was unwavering. He only knew of one kind of similar light. The lanterns of the god's castle. The ones that burned continuously and needed no fuel at all. It had to be god magic. But why ? Why here ? Where did he fit, a poor ordinary farmer ? As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything wrong. He'd paid his whole part of the tithe. He even prayed regularly. Surely the gods couldn't be angry with him.

He walked fully in sight of the light's source and froze, his simple mind unable to process the scene instantly. The light came from a box set on the floor. It was indeed god magic, shining there without any fire or smell. And around it, sitting in relaxed postures, were... strange people, smiling at him. Their sheer presence was overpowering, and he momentarily forgot to breathe. They were undeniably the four most beautiful men... and women, he'd ever seen, that he could see even in the feeble light. And they looked so friendly, he forgot his fears immediately.

He didn't know quite what to do. Fortunately, one of the beautiful strangers waved at him, unmistakably telling him to come closer and sit. He obeyed, moved by a compulsion stronger than conscious thought. In fact, he only wanted to please them. He sat and tentatively smiled, taking the opportunity to have a closer look. They seemed to be related to each other, like cousins, sharing facial features like these straight noses and high cheekbones, so unlike anyone of his own tribe. And so healthy. These people didn't know hunger, he was betting on it. And no peasant wore anything like the garment they wore. He could only relate it to the rich clothing worn by the gods, made of some oddly reflecting material unlike any fabric or metal his people wore, although the way it clung to the body, shaping every muscle group, was something he'd never seen before. Not even the god's ceremonial armor, which he wore during worshipping festivals, came close.

Who were these people ? As the question ran in his mind, one of them fished a packet out of a bag, and handed it to Marek. He took it, and widened his eyes in puzzlement. He turned it between his fingers, trying to divine what use it could have. Seeing that, the stranger grabbed it deftly and tore open the smooth thin substance covering it. Instantly, the smell of food reached Marek's nostrils. Well, it wasn't any food he'd ever tasted, but it made him salivate nonetheless. He took a small bite at first, then swallowed it down as fast as he could.

"Look at that, he actually _likes_ this stuff !" commented a very amused Draka trooper.

"It's the chocolate flavored one. Of course, he can't know it's actually algae without a hint of cocoa"

"And he hasn't been eating the crap for years continuously, anyway" smirked Rayner.

Sensing their "guest" was puzzled by their use of Drakan English, a language totally foreign to him, the commander switched to Abydonian.

"What is your name, peasant ?"

Satisfactorily, he understood, even though the dialect was slightly altered and the accent was off.

"My name is Marek, Lord" he said, bowing slightly.

_My, doesn't this serf know his place ? This is going to be pleasant._

_Two hours later_

Marek was still gabbing happily with a Draka trooper, as Polignac and Rayner quietly conferred a few meters away.

"Do you think it's worth waking up the other two ?" the woman asked.

"Hmm... I don't see what they could tell us that this serf didn't already. We've got all the information a peasant like him could possibly have about the town and the Goaul'd there."

"So what do we do with them ? They're our captives, but we can't realistically haul them around, nor can we leave them here, even drugged"

"I know, I know..." Anton mulled over the facts for an instant. It was distasteful, yet necessary. Bah, in the end, they were only ferals. He made a sign.

All the time, it never had came to Marek's mind that he was the only one telling anything significant. He hadn't thought about asking the strangers where they came from, or what their names were. They'd shaped the conversation effortlessly, hiding its true nature, that of an interrogation. The native was in the middle of telling an anecdote involving his cousin, an ox and a wicker basket when the Draka lunged suddenly, grabbed his head in both hands and twisted violently. The man dropped like the proverbial sack of potato. His sphincters relaxed as well, and the Drakas wrinkled their nose as the smell of shit invaded the cave's stagnant atmosphere.

"Right, Maxwell, go take care of the two females, then help Adams dig a hole for the bodies"

The soldier stood up and grinned at his commander.

"Can I have some fun with the little one first ?"

Anton made a disgusted look.

"Thor's cock, she's barely thirteen and she's ugly. Don't you have any taste ?."

Specialist Maxwell straightened and blew a mocking salute, before turning smartly, clicking his heels like a Prussian officer and heading to his task. Polignac buried his face in his hands and sighed theatrically. Rayner merely snorted.

To his credit, Specialist Maxwell took very good care of the two women. They never felt a thing.


	10. Chapter 10

Here's chapter 10 of Snakepit.

It's yours for reading, hopefully enjoy, and _comment_ ! Even if it's just a "nice story" or even a "you damn Draka-loving bastard !" ;- Having feedback feels good. I think it also attracts more readers ;-)

Enough preaching, on with the story !

**Chapter 10 – Spitting venom**

**Hyperspace, Twenty minutes to emergence**

**System Lords Alliance Hatak _Staff of Might_**

"Power core operating at full efficiency, my Lord !"

With twenty minutes remaining before the assault fleet emerged in orbit of Bellenos, Karl'ac's crew was busy checking the Alkesh's systems. Such practice was a novelty too. Goaul'ds and Jaffas used to have a very care-free approach to their fighting tools, as in, "if it works, good, if it doesn't, tough shit". Still, Yu had always been a stickler for etiquette, and his First Prime had introduced many common procedures in order to smoothly integrate the varied System Lord forces under his master's command. For many other Jaffas and minor Goaulds, it also reinforced their perception that Yu's empire viewed them as backwards bumbling idiots. Which, more often than not, they were. Those weren't keen on self-criticism anyway. Others took the innovations, found them to enhance global efficiency and eventually came to accept them.

"Energy grid stable"

"Shields on stand-by"

"Weapons safe" It wouldn't do to activate shields or fire weapons inadvertently inside the bay.

"Navigation's calibrated, receiving telemetry from the Hatak"

Karl'ac acknowledged, checking everything himself. He was satisfied with his crew so far. Of course, they hadn't done anything dangerous yet. He reviewed the plan again. The fleet would emerge in real space two light-seconds from Bellenos, and immediately disgorge its small craft. They would proceed inwards, smashing everything in their path. It wasn't subtle, and in Karl'ac's opinion, didn't allow for unpleasant surprises. Still, it should be enough, if intelligence had been right about Camulus' forces in-system.

He repressed a snort. _Intelligence_. At least he had wisely pre-loaded a hyperspace route back to the fleet's assembly point in the navigation system. It would save a few precious seconds if he needed to leave the area in a hurry.

**Planet Bellenos**

**Same time**

It was early dawn. A faint glow was coming from the East, and the planet's twin moons had long disappeared under the horizon. The team of Draka commandos had buried the three bodies, tidied the site, and slunk through the woods until they came in sight of the city's walls. They laid on the woodline, their adaptive camouflage hopefully preventing the guards on the walls to detect them. At least those Jaffas didn't seem to use any mean other than Mark 1 Eyeball, but they couldn't rule out more exotic means of surveillance. So far, there was no sign of alert. Anton watched the two guards by the open fortified gate as they inspected a peasant's hand-drawn chariot. It was apparently filled with sacks of grain. The farmer was standing aside, a hint of nervousness on his craggy face. A young boy was holding his hand, his son, likely, watching the big warriors with the universal look of fascination that boys have in front of soldiers.

The Jaffas finished their inspection, apparently satisfied that the sacks of grain were indeed sacks of grain. The leader waved his hand, and the man hurriedly grabbed the handles of the chariot, pulling it with a grunt of effort. As he disappeared under the gate, one of the Jaffas grinned and ruffled the boy's hair, telling what Anton assumed had to be the traditional "yes lad, eat your soup and when you grow up maybe you'll be a soldier like us !". He'd seen that scene often enough back in the Domination, when Janissaries came back to the plantations, sporting medals and ribbons and scars that made serf women swarm around eager to spread legs for the big burly warrior. It was the best way to make teenage serfs enlist as well. At least until Ghouloons made Janissaries obsolete.

Anton smiled, remembering his youth in the Aquitanian family plantation. The ancient chateau of blonde stone, the carefully tended lawns, the artfully crafted gardens with their elaborate air of wildness. The vineyards stretching in the distance over the gently rolling hills, producing some of the Domination's best vintages. Happy pre-war times, when the vendanges saw every serf hand take part in the grape picking, and the nightly parties in the serf quarters to celebrate a day of good work. There was a big feast at the end of the vendanges, where his father awarded the best workers with a deserved reward. The following two days were traditionally left to much-needed rest before the plantation's routine life resumed. Well, that was the closest one could come to the Draka ideal life, he often thought. In his case, the memories were made even warmer by the fact he'd lost his virginity during one of those nights. He remember the wench clearly, a very pretty and fresh-faced sixteen year old gold-skinned brunette with the firm body of someone used to spending time outdoors, yet with the softness only found in serf females. It had been... quick, but he'd improved vastly over the following days. In fact, he'd exhausted the girl to the point she had to be excepted from field labor. Which had brought him a fatherly tirade on the need to spare the workforce during such a labor-intensive period. The young Polignac had made a contrite face, and picked a fresh wench ten minutes later.

He was pulled from his remembrance by a flashing signal in his helmet display. It came from the spider, with a video feed showing the stargate being activated. He frowned. There was nobody around, therefore it came from outside. And contact with Dante wasn't due for another hour.

The molehole stabilized, and almost instantly Jaffas started pouring through, staves ready to fire. They deployed around the gate, while more emerged in a continuous stream. Anton made the spider's camera zoom on the closest warrior. The glyph on his brow was definitely a different design. And the way those guys acted, they weren't coming for a friendly tea and crumpets. That meant one thing, his mission was certainly going to become much more interesting.

_Well, no plan survives contact with the enemy, eh ?_

***

The Drakas didn't know it, but the newly-arrived Jaffas bore the mark of Dhakhan, a single golden chevron. Their arrival was timed to coincide with the task force's translation from hyperspace and hopefully confuse the defenders. Nor did they come alone. As the last Jaffa footsoldier stepped out from the gate, he ran to the side. The reason for his haste became apparent two seconds later, as a streak of grey metal burst from the molehole and started to climb away. The idea had come from Apophis' First Prime, who was notoriously curious of ancient Jaffa lore and history. His research had unburied, quite literally, an antiquated Death Glider designed to fit in a stargate. He'd very quickly grasped the tactical benefits of the formula, and Apophis had had seen its merits as well. Sure, the craft had its drawbacks, mainly a reduced maneuverability compared to regular Gliders. Still, the limited number of them had come in handy in previous attacks.

It also meant they weren't a surprise any more. As the third gateship appeared, the first one, now circling high above the gate, was hit by a powerful plasma bolt coming from the castle's direction. The shot, equivalent to a Hatak's secondary battery, blew it apart, incinerating the pilot and showering the ground below with flaming debris.

The remaining two, joined by a fourth and last, dove for cover precipitously, as another bolt missed the second Glider by a hair. On the ground, the Jaffas fell in a column and started jogging for the town.

***

"Did you see that ?" came the barely muffled exclamation in Anton's hear. He'd seen it indeed. The stone castle might look medieval, but the gun turret that suddenly emerged from the central tower was not. Nor was the bright golden blast of plasma that shrieked overhead towards what the Draka assumed was one of the strange little craft that came from the gate. His suspicion was confirmed seconds later when the spider view showed a flaming piece of wreckage impacting the ground in front of the stargate.

He murmured as much for himself as for his team. "Things are heating up, aren't they ?"

The town's gate was closing up as well, and Jaffas could be seen swarming the crenellations. The Draka zoomed in on a team of warriors pushing and pulling a larger version of the staff gun in place, which he assumed to be the Goauld machine-gun equivalent. They weren't alone, he counted five more of those, set up to cover the dead ground around the walls. There were more on the castle's ramparts as well.

He was curious to see how the attackers would proceed. In their place, he'd set up his own heavy weapon teams at the edge of the woods, and lay down covering fire. He'd also call for some mortar fire, and possibly some smoke to cover his own infantry. The big cannon on the tower might need the special attention of a hypervelocity arrow.

Well, it was a good opportunity to watch how Goaulds waged ground warfare.

***

Karl'ac felt the slight lurch signaling the translation to normal space. Almost immediately, the bay door slid open and the docking clamps released their hold on the bombers. He was third in line, and watched his squadron leader push out of the Hatak, even as he maneuvered his own Alkesh out of the holding area and in line with the exit. The second quickly followed, then it was his turn. On the left, Gliders were speeding away with little regard for strict formations. He passed the threshold and spared a glance around : the _Staff of Might_ was the apex of the five Hatak formation, all disgorging small craft and accelerating towards Bellenos and its two moons. Strangely, the tactical net didn't show any enemy craft yet. Karl'ac was too jaded to see that as a good thing, but for the moment he contented himself with settling in formation with the rest of his unit. Their primary task was supporting the infantry attack on Bellenos' capital city near the stargate. Normally, the gate itself should be secure, and as soon as the heavy defenses around Camulus' palace were suppressed, more Jaffas would land in assault Tel'taks as part of the second wave. Other units would similarly attack and capture the planet's industrial sites, including the large shipyard where several enemy Hataks were under construction.

A beeping sound attracted his attention, and a blowup of the tactical display appeared in front of him. At last, enemy reaction. Shoals of Death Gliders were powering up from the surface of the larger moon. This was expected, and the display showed their own fighter screen altering vector in order to place themselves between the defenders and the attacking bombers. They were already at the limits of visual range, but sun light occasionally reflected on the small ships like dim fleeting stars. They were now only on light-second from the planet, and the second, smaller moon, no more than a captured asteroid really, was occulted by the planet's bulk.

Brighter flashes started to appear as the two formations of fighters clashed. From this distance, it was only a subdued light-show, pinpricks of light flittering on and off with the occasional flare, rapidly fading, that marked the death of a ship. Those started being more frequent, until the space ahead appeared filled by stroboscopic lights. It looked very pretty, reflected Karl'ac. As long as the Jaffas were doing the dieing, he added cynically. Hundreds of them must be already dead, and more were pouring in. Camulus had to be expending all his Glider force, but they were seriously attritting the attackers. Karl'ac could now see damaged friendly Gliders crossing his own path. back towards the Hataks. It shouldn't be long before enemy ones started appearing as well. He glanced at the holographic map. They were much closer to the planet now, and at their current speed they'd start breaking atmosphere in four minutes. It was no use trying to move faster, since they'd need to slow down before reentry. Even Goauld inertial compensators and shields had limits. Zooming down too fast would overwhelm the engines braking ability (not to mention their thermal dissipation rating) and they would ultimately become a very large glowing crater.

There they were ! The computer warbled a proximity alert as a pair of enemy fighters swoop past, reversed at maximum thrust and started to pursue the formation. Karl'ac wasn't too worried yet. The two small ships started weaving and bobbing aside as the Alkesh gunners started pouring fire at them. His own status board showed his craft's twin defensive turrets moving under the direction of his Jaffa crew, the gun predictors taking care of parallax issues. Such fool-proof automation was indispensable, since most Jaffas weren't noted for their smarts. With computer-assisted aiming, it was fairly easy to saturate the target's predicted trajectory with plasma. In theory. In practice, sane Glider pilots learnt very quickly not to fly predictably, and those who didn't, well, that's why they were expendable.

Nevertheless, with twelve gunners all focusing on them, the two attackers were blown up in a matter of seconds. One of them, surprisingly, managed to eject before his fighter was vaporized. He might even have survived, since he wore a survival suit. In a stroke of very bad luck, however, he was right in the flight path of another formation of Alkeshs, and one of them splattered him like the proverbial bug on the shield. Karl'ac let out an evil laugh, then almost bit his tongue as the ship was jolted by an impact on the shield. Concentrating back on the tactical display, he noted that they were now in the middle of the furball, and Camulus' attack pilots were seizing the opportunity to take potshots at them. And while an Alkesh was shielded, it wasn't rated for sustained fire.

More shots found their mark, and Karl'ac started doing evasive corkscrew maneuvers. It made them harder to hit, but conversely the formation's defensive fire became scattered and inaccurate.

As more formations entered the fray, the depleted fighter screen couldn't protect every bomber and some started taking damage. Karl'ac was briefly distracted from his flying by a bright flash ahead. His sight focused on a flock of fighters, the computer helpfully marking them as hostile in holographic super-impression. They were speeding past a destroyed Alkesh, broken in two and streaming sparks and superheated air. Karl'c nudged his own trajectory down to give the wreckage a wide berth, then the killer were on him, swarming his ship like angry wasps. His own gunners were giving as good as they got, managing to destroy two while the remainder poured fire in. The bomber shook with every impact, and the shield strength indicator plummeted, taking the ominous blue color of imminent failure instead of a healthy golden hue. Karl'ac's skillful piloting was to no avail, he was cornered by the nimbler fighters. He could see, from the corner of his eyes, the indicators for other ships in his formation blink out of the tactical display, overwhelmed and either destroyed or too damaged to continue. He gritted his teeth and started swearing, cursing Camulus less than Dhakhan's moronic stupidity. Faced with the near-certainty of death, even a Goauld couldn't remain impassible. As to his crew, they were yelling colorful insults at the top of their lungs, directed at the enemy Jaffas, with a strong emphasis on the lack of virtue of their Unas-loving mothers, wives and daughters.

Great was hence his relief, as a trio of friendly Gliders dove in and started firing at the fixated assailants. Three were blown up immediately, and the rest peeled away to face the new arrivals, leaving the besieged Alkesh alone. Karl'ac took advantage of the lull to check in. The fairly scattered formation was down to five ships. More than half their number out, that was bad. They were just going to enter range of the fixed defenses. He noted as well that his leader had disappeared, and he'd automatically became formation lead. Recognizing this, the others started to form up on him, clear of the thickest combat. Bellenos was looming ahead, filling the viewscreen, and they were streaking past the larger moon. As they came at their closest approach, the defenses on the satellite started firing. Those bolts were stronger than fighter weapons, and even a glancing hit would ruin an Alkesh pilot's day. Fortunately, they weren't any faster, and this gave them a half-second to react and avoid the fire. Short, but doable. The bobbing and weaving resumed, the bombers flying through the shower of golden fire, yet some of them, unlucky or too tightly bracketed, fell to the distant guns. Karl'ac saw one of his ships take a glancing hit that disabled its shield and took a chunk of its engines. The fire switched immediately to another target. Without power, the ship was doomed, unable to alter the vector taking it straight into the planet's atmosphere at high speed. The crew, if they were still alive, and they probably were, was going to cook to death before the craft exploded or crashed into the ground.

Another Alkesh took a direct hit and vanished in a blinding explosion. Pieces of hull and machinery, and what looked suspiciously like a human torso, continued their way forward in an expanding formation. And then the three surviving bombers were clear, the moon's guns switching to the following groups. The sudden calm was almost disturbing. Karl'ac started to brake, imitated by his subordinates. The shield was back to strength and damage was only cosmetic. A few hull plates blackened and buckled where plasma had bled through the depleted shield. Nothing to worry about.

***

On the planet's surface, six Drakas were almost too stunned for words. Almost.

"What the...?"

"I can't believe this !"

"Freya's tits, this is the funniest thing I've seen in ages !"

"That's because you're a sadist, Maxwell"

They were half-buried, covered in vegetation, on top of their suit's natural camouflage abilities. From their vantage point, they could clearly see the battle raging in front of the city wall. They laid on the North side, away from the area in front of the East-facing gate, and watched as the attacking Jaffas did their best impression of the human wave, running across the clearing and firing from the hip, aiming in the general direction of the wall's defenders. There had to be a thousand of them, and while the volume of fire was visually impressive, it was, from the distance, totally ineffective. Return fire from the defenders was not as wide, and here and there running Jaffas stopped, stumbled and fell with a smoking hole in their armor. One didn't stop after taking one staff bolt, and continued running, albeit without his left arm. Anton watched in fascination as a bearded warrior tripped, his right leg still attached to his body by a few strands of flesh, then steadied himself using his staff as a crutch and hobbled forward, a grimace of pain on his face. A couple of steps later, he stopped for good, as another plasma bolt blew his head clear off.

The lead Jaffas were now two hundred meters from the wall, and the heavy guns on the wall joined the fray. When one the powerful shots connected, it only left a cloud of blood that stained the grass red. Near-misses were still enough to toss Jaffas in the air.

"These guys are getting slaughtered. Seriously, this is moronic" Rayner said with a tone of professional disgust.

More warriors were still pouring out of the wood, and the Drakas were almost relieved to see that some were finally setting up their own heavy staff cannons to fire at the wall. One team managed to score a direct hit on a defending weapon, the subsequent explosion tearing a chunk of the crenellations and showering the ground below with body parts.

The three gateships streaked in from the North, flying at tree-top level, and strafed the length of wall with devastating effect. Defensive staff cannons blew up or fell silent, their servants dead. The fire tearing the attackers apart abated, enabling them to renew their rush forward.

The flyers started to curve back, pursued by steady fire from the tower cannon. Each miss produced a devastating explosion, blowing huge trunks in the air and causing a string of regularly spaced mushroom clouds. The deafening noise and the shockwaves washed over the battlefield, and the Drakas felt each tremor shaking the ground. Maxwell hooted under the drowning racket, obviously enjoying it. Anton let him, there was no chance he could be overheard, and the man was professional enough to stop when necessary.

He watched in awe as a large flaming trunk crashed on the field, crushing a score of Jaffas.

The rearmost flyer was finally overtaken and vanished in a fireball, plowing in the woods and leaving a trail of burning trees. Anton reflected that whatever the battle's outcome, someone would have to extinguish the string of fires now raging in the far side. It even seemed that some "misses" had actually hit a village or two, judging by the secondary fires starting.

The remaining pair was coming back perpendicular the wall, walking fire towards the fortified gate. They found their mark, and the thick wooden panels vanished in flame, the surrounding stone works shattering and crumbling. The tower cannon crew rather foolishly tried to shoot them down, loosing a salvo towards the directly approaching fighters. Foolishly, as while they succeeded at destroying one and damaging the other, firing so low also meant that the remaining shots completed the destruction of the gate and dug a huge furrow in the ground ahead, ten meters wide and sixty meters long where nothing was left but ashes and glassed earth. Inside a wider radius, the heat wave caused the grass and men close by to burst in flames even as the shockwaves catapulted them in the air to land fifty meters away. The damage abated quickly with distance, yet almost nobody remained standing in the field, killed, injured or simply bowled over. The crippled flyer, in a final act of defiance, bore straight for the top of the tower. The Drakas were amazed to see it crash harmlessly on a shimmering wall that appeared out of thin air. _By the Race spirit, they've got energy shielding ! Wait till the folks back home learn that_.

Stunned silence descended on the field for a few seconds, then the first screams started. Jaffas with open fractured limbs, ragged shrapnel wounds and horrible burns called for help, even as the valid ones came slowly to their feet, picked up their weapon and gingerly began to advance again, joined by more Jaffas coming from the woodline. They certainly were persistent buggers, Anton thought.

The renewed wave advanced without opposition until it came within fifty meters from the smoking breach, seemingly unfazed by the still intense heat coming from the scorched earth. They merely ran as fast as possible, shooting from the hip in the general direction of the collapsed gate, hoping to suppress the meager return fire from the few concealed defenders. Finally, the Drakas watched the human mass funnel itself unto the ruins and disappear into the town. The din of screams, shouts and staff blasts was telling. The defenders had to be buying time for the rest on the garrison to converge in, with their lives. The rest of the perimeter wall was emptying, only a few sentinels remaining in case an attack came from another direction.

Just as things seemed to somewhat calm down, the tower cannon pivoted and spat a salvo northwards.

***

The three Alkeshs in arrow formation were starting to skirt the fringes of the planetary atmosphere, diving in at the steepest angle they could safely manage. Ahead of them, the various pieces of debris from their fallen comrades were already burning, including the tumbling disabled ship which was shedding glowing debris and sparks. Karl'ac spared a brief thought to the fellow Goaul'd inside who had to be roasting to death, determined to avoid the same fate. As they hit progressively denser layers, the slight tremors increased to a steady buffet, as the inertial damper fought to counteract the unpredictable random accelerations. Luckily, the shield was keeping the superheated air away from the hull material, and the engines were dumping away the radiated heat as designed.

As the ship followed the reentry trajectory without manual input, Karl'ac took the opportunity to review his attack plan. What would have been a vanilla bombing pass against a single planetary defense gun was getting complicated by the fact only three ships remained from the starting twelve. As it was, the gun would have them in range before they could even retaliate. Unless, that is, they made their approach below the horizon. He studied the relief map. Yes, those hills to the North of the city could effectively conceal their approach to the last moment. They would pop up, launch the energy bombs and dive back down behind cover.

He updated the plan, and received acknowledgements from the two other bombers. By now they were zipping down the stratosphere at supersonic speeds. He spared a glance at the tactical display, under the revised flight profile, they were twelve minutes from the target. His formation should still be the first to attack. And hopefully, they would catch Camulus in his palace.

The ships skimmed over the omnipresent forest interspersed by scattered villages and fields, flying as low as they dared to, the speed of their passage ripping leaves from the trees and occasionally dipping so low as to flatten a few treetops under their shield. It was a dangerous and utterly thrilling ride, but they were safe from the planetary defenses. Those should anyway be kept busy by the supporting Hataks now in position and trading fire with the major moon's fixed guns. Sensors were picking up heavy weapon fire overhead.

Karl'ac checked the status of his weapon system a last time. He was coming up on the last leg of the approach, the ridge on the horizon hiding the city, and the palace's position was locked in the computer. Now was the most dangerous phase of the attack. He regained manual control of the Alkesh by placing his hands on the twin red interaction surfaces, and took a deep breath, purging his mind and concentrating on the incoming maneuver.

The three ships maneuvered in perfect synchronization, surging up until they came into view of Camulus' capital city. The computers made a last adjustment, the bomb launcher doors opened in the blink of an eye and the devices lobbed two glowing spheres of self-contained plasma each on a ballistic trajectory. It only took a second and as soon as it was done, the pilots banked hard to dive back under cover, pivoting in mid air and pushing their engines to maximum thrust to change vector with stomach-churning brutality. The extreme maneuver took the defense by surprise, and the return salvo missed to the relief of the three crews.

Alkesh energy bombs were remarkable. Basically spheres of superdense plasma contained in a self-sustaining field, their yield could be dialed as necessary and they were uniquely fitted to bringing down shields. The Jaffa servants at the top of the tower only had time to curse before the first volley hit their position, impacting the shield and overloading it. Heat and concussion barely had time to propagate before the second volley landed, however, and without a shield to absorb it, they released their entire strength in an explosive manner, first incinerating the cannon and its crew, then shattering the top half of the tower, and finally setting the surrounding buildings on fire. Additional damage was caused across the town by falling pieces of debris, flaming logs and stones crushing roofs, bashing heads and starting fires. The wounded's screams of agony were joined by the wailing howls of women who'd lost husbands and children, adding to the din of combat taking place in the streets as Dhakhan's Jaffas pushed their way farther into the city, bolstered by the spectacular destruction of the mighty castle tower.

"Good work warriors ! I bet Camulus wet his pants !" Karl'ac allowed himself a smile of satisfaction, answered by the laughs of the Jaffa crew and the cheers of his fellow pilots. Their most difficult task done, it was time to return to the fleet. The three ships started to climb and accelerate on a vector that would take them around the planet. Hopefully, by the time they'd circle back, the battle for orbital supremacy between the Hataks and the moon fortress would be over. Behind them, billowing smoke marked the success of their mission.

As the ships gained altitude and left the scattered clouds far below, the sky darkened progressively until blue became the familiar black expanse of space and its myriad sparkling stars. Out of curiosity, Karl'ac tapped into the wider communications net. Immediately, excited cries, barked orders and situation reports poured in. It seemed the remaining attack squadrons had taken a heavy toll as well, though not as bad as Karl'acs leading formation. Evidently the following waves had encountered weakened opposition. They mostly reported mission success, blasting the way clear for the troop transports now launching from the Hataks. It seemed as if the assault was going to succeed after all.

Bellenos' minor moon was now in sight, looming ahead in low orbit. It would even mask them in case the larger moon was still firing.

One report somehow attracted Karl'ac's attention. It seemed the attack on the shipyard had been a dud. The bombers had leveled the defense guns with no loss to themselves, but the ships reportedly in construction were nothing more than barely laid keels. The leader was complaining on the channel about intelligence being wrong as usual and spies all being traitors anyway. Karl'ac snorted. It wouldn't be the first time, and didn't change much to the outcome. Camulus had truly been caught with his pants down. Now he would have to explain his defeat to Anubis. Ouch.

Something caught the edge of his vision. He focused back and scanned the portion of sky. His eyes couldn't see anything other than the small moon. His sensors didn't report anything either. He relaxed in his seat. Such illusions happened often enough in space, with nothing but blackness and stars to stimulate the eye.

He straightened suddenly. Either his vision was really playing tricks with his mind, or there had been a brief glint, like the sun reflecting on a smooth surface. Eyes wide open and searching, Karl'ac strained his neck forward. There. No doubt this time, he'd caught a flash. How ? There was nothing on this moon that would reflect light this way. He was puzzled for a moment, and directed his ship's sensors to do a close sweep. He suddenly had a bad feeling. The scan's results came on display, and he broke into cold sweat.

_Under construction my ass ! Those are fully functional Hataks !_ Realization came at once. They'd been suckered into an ambush. The fleet was committed, with a severely depleted fighter screen and Tel'tak transports launching.

His Alkesh's passive sensor arrays picked up energy spikes, and he reacted instinctively, wrenching the ship in a hard break turn, calling his formation to do the same. Streams of energy passed right where he'd been fraction of a second before, and the burning flare of explosions coming from behind told him his subordinates hadn't acted fast enough, even before a glance to the tactical board confirmed the fact. He engaged in frantic evasive maneuvering as more fire bracketed his ship.

One of his Jaffa crew shouted urgently. "My Lord ! There are at least four enemy Hataks on the surface of this moon ! We must warn the rest of the fleet !"

Karl'ac snared back between gritted teeth. "I'm busy just trying to stay alive here ! The fleet can deal with four Hataks !"

He swore as a close shot grazed them, the shield flaring and dropping to half power.

"Fuck this ! I'm out of here !"

Punching the control to activate the hyperdrive, he congratulated himself for his forethought on planning an escape route in advance. The blue-purple swirl of an hyperspace window blossomed forward and the bomber vanished into the alternate dimension, golden plasma bolts passing harmlessly where the craft had just been.

Back in real space, dark ominous shapes, now fully powered up, detached themselves from the bulk of the captured asteroid that had sheltered them from view. Yet the four brand new ships weren't the only threat looming over the Alliance fleet. Deep in the bowels of the moon, buried under hundreds of meters of dense metallic ore, titanic machines rumbled to life, humming with the power of several combined Hataks. Relays and generators crackled with lightning inside a massive spherical assembly, from which sprout-like projections ran to the surface. As energy levels continued to climb, the meter thick trinium alloy cover slid apart over one of those extensions, revealing a large focusing head that oriented itself towards the five Hataks now coming over the horizon.

Inside the structure, safe in a control chamber buried under kilometers of rock, Camulus stood up from his raised throne and encompassed the Jaffas manning the consoles in his gaze, before settling on the wall display showing a view of the attacking fleet. His eyes flashed, and with a cold cruel smile he spoke a single command.

"Commence primary ignition."

**System Lords Alliance Ship _Staff of Might_**

**Same time**

"My Lord, we have subdued the weapon batteries on the moon and the enemy Glider force is all but annihilated. Our attack squadrons report success across the board. It is time to launch the ground invasion !"

Dhakhan listened to his First Prime's report with intense pleasure. Camulus's defenses were crushed, and his capital was ripe for picking. It would be a great success, one that would no doubt curry him even greater favor and importance at Yu's court. Not to mention how it would increase his stature and appeal in the eyes of the Lady Chiang-Mu. He knew she would eventually give in and spread her lovely legs for him. And with her support, he would in due time overthrow that decrepit old mummy Yu. His empire would be his... Dhakhan, Supreme System Lord !

"Send the troops in ! Today is the day I stomp the weak Camulus under my feet !"

"By your command, My Lord !"

His First Prime bowed and relayed the order. Down in the massive ship's bowels, Tel'Tak transports left their docking cradles, loaded to the brim with Jaffas. They streamed out and accelerated towards the planet, the warriors inside bracing themselves for the discomforts of an assault reentry, and filling their minds with thoughts of plunder, loot, rape and pillage.

Then all hell broke loose.

The first sign of trouble came when the sensor Jaffa froze in place. The next came almost immediately after when four Hataks appeared out of nowhere. And the final warning came when a very large energy buildup was detected coming from the small moon. Cries of consternation were the next step as energy readings peaked, and an intense whitish beam erupted from a point on the moon's surface, reaching the closest Alliance mothership and bisecting it like a giant knife through butter, its weakened shields showing only a token split second of struggle. Silence fell then on the _Staff of Might_'s bridge. Dhakhan and his staff watched mouth agape as secondary explosions dotted the two separated halves, quickly ended by a massive and catastrophic conflagration that blew pieces of the destroyed Hatak in every direction.

"It's a trap !" a shocked second-rank Goaul'd managed to blurt out.

"All ships, fire at the moon !" the strong voice of Dhakhan's First Prime boomed into the stunned bridge and broke the spell. The _Staff of Might_ and its brethren poured fire from every weapon battery, aiming at the devastating beam's point of origin. The fiery bombardment stream crossed the void and impacted a shield, the normally invisible barrier looking from the distance like an iridescent soap bubble. A bubble that didn't seem fazed the least bit by the angry fire it was absorbing. As the Alliance motherships were thus occupied, their new opponents opened with all their might, sending their own stream of gold plasma hurtling back towards them. Each found its mark, and Dhakhan's Hataks started to shudder under the assault.

"Jaffa ! Report !"

The First Prime answered his master's barked order. "My Lord, the enemy ships are dividing their fire, keeping every one of us under pressure. They have also launched fighters in order to intercept the troop transports"

"What's the status on our shields ?"

"They were already weakened by the fight with the larger moon's defenses My Lord ! Against fresh ships, we are at a disadvantage ! And this despicable new weapon is recharging as we speak !"

The Goaul'd commander pondered the facts for a moment, trying desperately to find a solution. He hadn't planned on such treachery ! Such a weapon was unheard of and dishonorable ! His thoughts were interrupted by the commander of the _Iron Blossom_, her normally serene face visibly fighting to keep a calm facade.

"Lord Dhakhan, we cannot hold ! You have to call off the attack _now_ before this cursed weapon fires again !"

"Lady Kono-Hana, need I remind you who's in command here ?" the ebon-skinned Goaul'd scowled.

"You are, Dhakhan, which means you have to take a decision before we're all blasted apart !" came the angry reply. "Or was Chiang-Mu wrong to trust you with this command ?" she added in a ton full of dangerous undertones.

"Enough, woman ! I won't tolerate our impertinence ! Now you will..." he stopped in mid-sentence, as the communication was suddenly interrupted. The cause was obvious in the outside view. The _Iron Blossom_ was breaking up, carved in two by the fiendish beam. Something unpredicted happened, saving the mothership from immediate destruction : the beam stopped abruptly, as the Allied steady fire managed to overcome the shield and destroy the surface emitter.

Cheers and cries of relief erupted in the bridge. Dhakhan himself smiled with respite.

"Victory's mine ! No one defies me !" His roar of laughter drowned the room in turn.

Regaining his composure, he turned to the Jaffa at his side.

"Status of the troop transports ?"

"They're now breaking atmosphere, My Lord !"

"Very good, now let's concentrate on those offending Hataks ! I'm sure they're dying to be spared from the pains of continued existence after the destruction of their perfidious weapon !"

The remaining three functional Hataks focused their fire on the leading opponent, hoping to overcome its shielding, while the crew of the _Iron Blossom_ evacuated the crippled starship using whatever means at their disposition. Teltaks from the other ships rushed to its flanks and the ring transport rooms worked overtime.

Renewed exclamations of joy and triumph burst in the allied bridges when the targeted Supremacist mothership suddenly fell out of formation, its shield faltering and weapons going silent. Those Hataks were definitely inferior. Dhakhan's First Prime reflected that the vessels must have been rushed into service, and it also meant Camulus had had wind of the attack beforehand. He shrugged imperceptibly. For all he knew Dhakhan himself could have betrayed the secret to some wench he'd banged and forgotten. Sometimes it was hard to be a faithful First Prime.

A sensor operator called.

"My Lord !"

"What is it, Jaffa !"

The answer came with a slightly hesitant voice.

"The moon.. it is turning, My Lord !"

Incredulity tainted Dhakhan's response.

"What do you mean, turning, moons don't turn, you fool !"

"My Lord, look for yourself... it's orientation is changing relative to us. The weapon we destroyed is moving away !" The Jaffas pointed to his display. His master had to agree : the rolling motion was visible, and it was new. What sort of devilry...? What did Camulus do with this moon ? Whatever. The weapon was destroyed. It wouldn't trouble his plan again.

It was time to review the ground invasion... The first wave was hitting the ground now.

***

"Those were nice fireworks" Maxwell remarked to no one in particular.

Rayner quipped in. "Some pretty big explosions, outside of the atmosphere... and those traces looked a lot like weapon fire"

Polignac observed the sky for a moment, using the full magnification on his helmet display.

"And those are reentry trajectories... they're too neatly grouped to be a bunch of debris".  
"I'd bet on troop transports, or gunships"

"We'll know in a few minutes, I think"

The sound of battle was still coming from inside the city, even if a bit more subdued than before. The attackers had to be making progress, but the Drakas couldn't see, which was frustrating. At least no humongous plasma bolts were flying nearby. Those were real nasty.

There was a puzzling fact in the data they had accumulated so far. More precisely, in the lack of a specific kind of data. They had deployed various sniffers around, from the snooping modules on the drones to the listening devices integral to their suits. Apart from the few fixed-frequency waves that came from electrical circuitry, there wasn't any radio traffic. Not even the fleeting whispers of a modern frequency-hopping burst encrypted datanet. In fact, the electromagnetic spectrum was almost barren. Yet those Goaul'ds had to communicate and couldn't rely only on whisker lasers. Which led to the conclusion that they were using something entirely different from radio.

That made capturing equipment and/or personnel even more crucial.

"We're not getting anything else by staying buried here" As usual, Maxwell was bluntly stating the obvious. Observing was all well and good, but the current chaos inside the walls should enable some freedom of action. It was still a hell of a lot riskier. Drakas, of course, loved danger.

Body language was restricted in a full coverage suit, but the subtle shift in their commander's posture told his soldiers that he'd came to a decision.

"Right. I'll go with Rayner and Maxwell. You three stay here and cover us."

Exaggerated sighs made it clear that the rearguard trio wasn't too happy to miss the fun. And that it wouldn't prevent them from following orders.

It was the moment. The handful of Jaffas still on the closest section of wall had their attention distracted by the fighting going on below in the narrow streets. The Drakas brought their rifles in position, took aim, and fired. Six Jaffas dropped bonelessly a fraction of a second later, a substantial portion of their brain matter now a fine red mist in the air. The small short _cracks_ of the shots was lost under the general noise and confusion. The remaining pair got the same treatment before they could do so much as gape in surprise. The bodies were still in the process of falling when the three soldiers launched themselves towards the rampart. Running at full sprint and taking advantage of their suit's strength augmentation, they covered the three hundred meters distance in barely ten seconds and leapt up, landing smoothly and silently behind the crenellations. Crouching, they quickly scanned the surrounding areas then, satisfied they hadn't been spotted, flattened themselves on the stone surface. The mimetic coating reconfigured itself instantly, blending itself to the grey rock. Now the Draka observers had their first good look at Camulus' capital.

It was both familiar and disconcerting. Familiar as the medieval-style layout of narrow streets and multi-story wood and masonry houses seemed to jump from a history book. Disconcerting because, well, that wasn't what one expected from an alien civilization on a planet 34000 LY from Earth. The wooden frames of the roofs looked sturdy enough to support a soldier's weight. Good. Hopping from rooftop to rooftop would keep them out of the streets, and out of the Jaffas' attention.

The central section of the castle was still burning in the distance, the thick black smoke adding an element of cover and distraction. From their vantage point, they could make out fleeing townsfolk and distant discharges of plasma indicating street fighting, progressing slowly towards the palace and its technological treasures.

Before the Drakas moved, however, a rapidly moving shadow glided towards their wall section. A glance showed the dark smooth pyramid shape of a Tel'Tak transport coming to a stop a few meters away from their location. They felt the weird "push" of the contragravity engine over their body, and saw identical shapes taking positions all around the town perimeter.

_Great. They saw an apparently empty section of wall and thought it would make a great place for an assault landing._ Anton's mind cursed the Demon Murphy, probably the only tradition Draka and Democracy forces had ever shared. Body and mind primed for action, the three Drakas watched in wonderment as a set of dark grey rings dropped down from the hovering ship, a bright white light pulsed inside them, and they finally retracted back into the transport's belly, leaving a group of Jaffas in their place. The vessel accelerated away immediately, its pilot unwilling to spend any more time over a combat zone than absolutely needed.

The eight Jaffas were about to discover a brand new world of hurt as three snarling Drakenses unstuck themselves from the floor, combat knives in hand, and sprang into action.

Despite his surprise, the closest Jaffa tried to lower his staff. Before his could complete his gesture however, the lead Draka leapt in the air and kicked the warrior's unprotected head, crushing his skull. He then landed in the middle of the Jaffa group, driving his dagger-shaped combat knife down on the furthest warrior's cranium, holding on the hilt while his fist drove into his victim's back. The body fell forward, gore and brains leaking out of the ragged cavity. The Draka didn't pause, shifting his position slightly and launching his foot sideways to connect brutally with the leftmost Jaffa's knee. The burly man screamed as his leg gave way under him, then the return kick launched him clear over the wall, flailing wildly until he crashed into the ground head first, blood splashing over the hard-packed earth.

The remaining Jaffas tried to react, but the speed of the Draka assault, and unwieldy staves hampered them. Anton trivially blocked a staff swipe with his left hand, then pushed the weapon aside and drove the heel of his hand straight into the bearer's nose. Sharp shards of bone drove into the Jaffa's brain, collapsing him instantly. The Draka flowed into movement once more, thrusting the dead man's staff hard into his next opponent's solar plexus, then grabbing the doubled over's man head and twisting away, breaking his neck and sending him down to join his dead comrade below. From the corner of his eye, the Merarch saw another alien warrior flying back from the impact of Decurion Rayner's augmented fist. Draka hand to hand combat emphasized simple but effective killing moves, and the fluid practiced grace of the Drakensis made it a lethal dance. While Jaffas were bred to be warriors, they lacked the New Race's artificially enhanced speed and strength. Anton ducked under a swinging staff and drove his dagger up to the hilt in the Jaffa's torso, the piercing blade punching effortlessly through the chainmail and reaching under the ribcage to puncture the heart. He retracted his arm and turned, ready to tackle another opponent. It was unnecessary. Rayner had just dispatched the last standing Jaffa with a crushing blow to the temple.

The dead bodies were dumped unceremoniously over the edge, landing in tangled heap. The whole affair had taken a mere five seconds. Anton glanced over the crenellations. More of the invading Jaffas had been dropped and were now jogging towards the wall, transporting what looked like sections of ladder.

"Let's go !"

Taking the cue, Rayner and Maxwell followed their commander and jumped the ten-meter gap between the perimeter wall and the first row of houses. From there on, the intervals between roofs was narrow and the three Drakas bounded from house to house on a heading taking them towards the castle.

As they moved deeper into the city, they came closer to the frontline, where vicious house to house fighting was taking place between attacking and defending Jaffas in the middle of terrified civilians. As they jumped over a narrow street, the Drakas caught a fleeting glimpse of two Jaffas, they couldn't tell which side, dragging a screaming woman by the ankles.

"Hey, just like Janissaries" Rayner observed with amusement.

"Why aren't _we_ doing this whole rape and pillage thing ?" Maxwell lamented theatrically. "Instead we're jumping around like monkeys... SHIT !" His burst of profanity was accompanied by the sound of wood shattering. Polignac and Rayner stopped in mid-run and backtracked to the point where a brand new ragged hole explained the soldier's sudden disappearance. Peering in cautiously, they saw Maxwell below, brushing dust and small fragments from his suit. "Yank-damned wood's rotten !" His look of disgust seemed apparent even through his faceless suit helmet. As if on cue, the roof creaked, groaned and sagged under the remaining Drakensis' weight.

Anton evaluated the situation. "All right, we can't risk you jumping back on. The whole structure could come down. We're coming in"

Maxwell stepped aside as first Rayner, then Polignac dropped down. They were in a cellar of sorts, without any opening other than the newly created hole. Aside from a thick layer of dust and a generous coating of cobwebs, there was nothing to see, but Rayner's eye caught a handle on the ground. Coming closer, she saw that it indeed belonged to a trapdoor. She gestured for her companions to join her and pointed towards it. They took overwatch positions as she kneeled down, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The door didn't budge. She pulled harder, and the handle separated from the panel. She shook her head and uttered a string of obscenities, then cocked her fist and drove it hard into the offending piece. The planks splintered and her gloved hand ripped the chunks of wood aside, fully clearing the passage. Maxwell dropped in the dark corridor below, crouched and took a few paces forward. The others landed behind, rifles at the ready, and they started to move in tactical formation. Four doors communicated with the corridor, two on each side, and the Drakas assumed they led to the second-story rooms. From the dilapidated look of the surrounding, it wasn't luxury housing. They didn't linger to check and reached a narrow ladder descending to the first story. A small window on the street-facing wall let dim light through. Given the narrowness of the gap between roofs, it probably never saw direct sunlight. The whole place reeked of unwashed bodies and stale food. The first level was barely cleaner.

"Sure you want to shag the locals, Maxwell ?" Rayner mockingly inquired.

The subject of her taunting opened his mouth to speak, and shut it immediately when angry shouts and the sound of things being broken burst from below. All humor forgotten, the Drakas listened intently. The noise was coming from ground level, and frightened male and female voices mixed in with the thudding of boots and the unmistakable crackling of a staff gun prepped to fire. Desperate pleads for life were cut abruptly by the _woosh_ of a plasma discharge. A female scream answered, followed by the wails of children. More staff fire ended those.

"Shit" Anton muttered under his breath. It was as much a reaction to their compromised situation as to what sounded very much like the slaughter of non-combatants. It wasn't something Drakas endorsed. Oh, sure, he'd killed serf civilians before. It had always served a purpose, however. Here, it appeared like gratuitous brutality.

He peered cautiously down the stairs and caught sight of a pair of boots moving toward his position. Another was following, and he heard at least two more soldiers present. He raised his head back, unclipped a flash grenade and tossed in down the shaft. It exploded a few seconds later, blinding and disorienting the aliens. Maxwell took point in the stairs, carbine raised, and fired twice, each shot dropping an enemy in quick succession. A few steps later, he pivoted left and shot another Jaffa as he came in sight. Behind him, Polignac did the same to the last dazed intruder. They spared a brief glance around. It was a common room, containing a table with assorted rough stools, some chests covered with blankets and a chimney used for cooking. A dead couple and two children laid near the table. There was no point lingering and the Drakas went straight to the open door, pausing to look outside. More shouts could be heard, and the smell of smoke told of fires burning.

_I really hope they have some form of fire service_, Anton thought.

The trio stepped into the street, and headed in the direction of the castle in tactical formation, running half-crouched and rifles covering every direction. The Merarch still hoped to reach the castle's vicinity without encountering too much opposition, but even in the confusion of battle, his hopes were getting lower and he was starting to have second thoughts about the whole affair.

His doubts proved right when they rounded a bend and found a squad of Jaffas, Camulus ones from their facial tattoo, running in the opposite direction with guns ready, obviously to counter a penetration by the attackers. They stopped at once, bewildered by the appearance of these strange opponents, and instinctively fired before they consciously registered it. Jaffa aim was notoriously atrocious. On the other hand, they were in a narrow passage, and their targets were a mere five meters ahead. This meant that of six shots, a staggering half found their mark.

One impacted straight on Maxwell's chest, jolting him slightly back. The scorching plasma scored the surface of his armor, disrupting the mimetic coating and ablating a thin layer of the carbon-beryllium carapace. Despite the suit's isolating property, he clearly felt intense heat seeping through, probably enough to give him a first-degree burn. That was negligible, but he'd have to avoid further hits in the same area. A second shot glanced on his left arm, dissipating most of its energy harmlessly on the masonry behind. The third shot avoided him entirely and instead spent itself on Anton's thigh. He winced slightly at the burning sensation, then returned fire along with Maxwell, stitching a line of bullets across the group of Jaffas. On full auto, the Tolgren caseless carbine was able to expend its 50-round magazine in two seconds. The 6mm pre-fragmented bullets ripped through Jaffa armor as if it were paper then expanded into the soft tissues, causing vicious grieving wounds. The noise was lost in the overall din and the six warriors dropped bonelessly before they could fire a second volley. Blood seeped out, staining the dirty cobblestones.

The Drakas advanced cautiously forward until they reached a T-intersection. Multiple, heavy footsteps were coming from both directions, and a quick peek around the corner showed more incoming Jaffas. From behind, more shouts told of attacking warriors coming up. They'd run into a crossfire, Anton thought. Fortunately, the New race had many tricks. He made a gesture, his index finger thrusting up. His seconds understood and braced themselves, flexing their legs, then uncoiled explosively, jumping up with the power of oversized grasshoppers. Which wasn't that far from the truth, as Drakensis incorporated, among others, genes regulating elastin production, the protein responsible for the insect's spectacular detent.

The three genetically modified soldiers landed lightly on top of the roof, and climbed out of sight from the street, thanking Murphy that this one wasn't eaten by termites. A short moment later, they heard the firefight erupt below.

It was soon eclipsed, however, by fire coming from the heavens. It was very high, and even through magnification the source was hard to discern. Explosions and weapon fire were still unmistakable, as well as the plummeting shapes of damaged troop transports trailing black smoke. More shapes resolved as fighters descending through the atmosphere, harassing the vulnerable bigger ships. It looked like another air battle. A very unbalanced one. More transports were dropping off, or outright exploding, as they tried to evade their nimble pursuers. It wasn't long before the first out-of-control vessel impacted the countryside, an earth-shattering boom and a climbing fireball marking its demise. More followed, littering the city's surroundings with dozens of additional smoking pyres.

To Anton's professional eyes, it looked a lot like fortunes had reversed and the attackers were starting to get their ass whopped. Which would spell the doom of his plan of reaching the castle and stealing valuable data or artifacts under the cover of the mayhem. It might well be time to backtrack.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Under a falling sky**

"My Lord, our troop transports are being intercepted by enemy Death Gliders !" _Slaughtered, as a matter of fact, but it wouldn't do to say it out loud_, the First Prime added in the privacy of his own mind behind an emotionless face.

The reply came back instantly, in a voice even deeper than usual. "Order our own Gliders to protect them !"

Sadly, his Lord wouldn't be pleased. "My Lord, we don't have any fighters left... the wings are all expended" The Jaffa officer had to fight to keep his voice from showing any strain. Thousands of his brothers had died already, sacrificed their lives to the glory of their God. More still were going to meet their end, if the battle didn't stop soon.

Dhakhan ground his teeth. Not out of consideration for his Jaffas dieing in droves, but out of anger growing ever hotter as the battle's outcome diverged from his plans. After his inevitable victory, he would have to devolve months to rebuilding his army, drawing men and new ships from the Allied forge worlds.

Still, something had to be done in the short term. "Recall the Tel'taks ! We will resume the invasion when Camulus' fleet is ground to dust !"

The bridge crew relayed his order efficiently, and the remaining troopships backflipped hastily before they had to run the gauntlet of the upper atmosphere, dodging occasional shots from the Supremacist motherships in the distance.

In the busy _Staff of Might'_s command center, a Jaffa suddenly opened his mouth to shout a warning. Whatever message he was trying to convey was instantaneously made superfluous, however. The entire ship shook and heaved, the brutal convulsion swaying Jaffas inside the corridors off their feet. The bridge's denizens grabbed whatever handhold they could, top Goaul'd included, in order to remain upright, then cries of surprise and consternation filled the air, when a deep tremor resonated throughout the hull and lights and gravity failed entirely. The mighty ship went dark and silent. The small moon had stopped rotating and its dismaying weapon had fired again, though for a second only, cutting a gash straight through the Hatak's hull, bisecting the primary and secondary power busses and leaving the ship crippled and helpless. Distant stars shone through the forty meter wide gash, framed by glowing innards now open to vacuum.

Inside the subterranean control chamber, Camulus was cackling manically at the sight of his opponent's flagship reduced to impotence.

As if struck by a sudden inspiration, he spoke in unnaturally deep Goaul'd tone to no one in particular.

"Now witness the power of this fully operational battlestation !"

One of the Jaffas manning a console below paused and raised an eyebrow. His god sounded strange sometimes. But he was winning as gods ought. He was proud to serve such a glorious master and resumed his task diligently.

The one second shot, while enough to hopelessly cripple Dhakhan's flagship, had the added bonus of not emptying the weapon's capacitors. The operators in the command center adjusted their aim, and another Hatak's running lights sputtered and died, the mighty vessel falling silent with a deep gouge cut in its innards. In this case, the wound wasn't as critical and emergency power remained, functional gravity plating keeping the crew firmly on the floor. Inside the Pel'tak, the Goaul'd commander did the sensible thing, ordering an evacuation and instructing the returning transport ships to pick up the survivors. With the flagship out of communication, it was time to cut the losses, curse Dhakhan's foolishness. The last mothership acknowledged, and opened a hyperspace window just in time to escape the same fate as its consorts. The intense white beam struck empty space before shutting down, its power now depleted.

Inside the two disabled ships, Jaffas and Goaul'd ran, or swam, towards predesigned evacuation areas where rescueing Teltak's could ring them out through the hull. Inside the _Staff of Might_ warriors and officers struggled frantically to make way along the dark corridors, using improvised handholds and pushing themselves across empty space towards the next walls. Zero-gee training wasn't part of the Jaffa curriculum, and intersections became tangles of cursing and swearing men, futilely grabbing each other in order to gain leverage and moving again, and achieving nothing but chaos. If anything, it became worse after some of the flailing warriors puked their guts around, spraying their comrades with foul vomit.

Dhakhan was seething. After leaving the Pel'tak, he oriented himself in the direction leading to the ring transport room two decks away and quickly found his way blocked by a group of Jaffas cartwheeling hopelessly. Worse, he couldn't stop himself. He was flying right towards them. He had to get out and couldn't afford to lose time trying to push or squirm them out of his way. Not to mention the rather undignified way his loincloth didn't leave much hidden if anybody happened to float behind him.

He found the solution to the problem, taking aim with his hand device and unleashing a shockwave towards the obstruction. The struck Jaffas scattered away, some screaming as they spun in the air uncontrollably or rebounded on the walls. As to the ebony-skinned Goaul'd, he found himself pushed in the opposite direction by the reaction effect of the device, unnoticeable when used with both feet firmly planted on the ground. He stared in disbelief at the receding walls for an instant, then processed the fact and allowed a large grin to his face. Twisting himself around, he took aim carefully and delivered another blast, directed at nothing in particular but effectively canceling his rearward inertia. He corrected his position and shot again, propelling himself back in the right direction.

Using his hand device as an improvised reaction thruster, he managed to reach his destination. Swimming to the control panel, he selected one of the waiting Tel'taks, and pushed against the wall. He floated inside the ring perimeter just as they activated, teleporting him to safety. He hadn't allowed for the returning gravity, though, and fell with all the grace of a brick, narrowly cushioning his head-first fall. This didn't spare him the relative humiliation of landing with his ass over his head.

The cargo hold was fortunately empty, or he'd have had to kill the witnesses.

One by one, the transport ships unstuck themselves from the dead hulls, loaded with as many survivors as they could manage, and fled to hyperspace, leaving a complete and total disaster behind.

More than one minor Goaul'd aboard them immediately went to entertain very satisfying visions of Dhakhan failing to explain his ignominious defeat to Lord Yu. All of them wondered if they'd be allowed to watch the ensuing torture, and hopefully participate.

_On the planet's surface_

Skera was a Jaffa. Not any Jaffa. No, he was one of the Jaffa Primes sent to command the assault force. Now he was the sole surviving officer left, and his fellow warriors looked to him for orders. They still commanded large portions of the wall, but they were beleaguered, caught between the city defenders, now being reinforced through the ring platform in the castle, and the enemy reinforcements who had stormed the Chappai and were coming up. The last transmission from the Hatak was clear and unequivocal. There was to be no surrender. Nor would he and his men be rescued.

He was more than ready to die for his God, utterly loyal and fanatical, indeed an exemplary Jaffa. He was also determined to make those dogs closing on him pay a bloody price. Yes, he was going to die, but he'd take as many of them with him as possible.

And he had just what he needed for that. Reaching inside his armor, he extracted a disk-shaped object, gleaming with the metallic sheen of naquadah, and pressed a large button set in the center.

It felt wrong, watching passively, hiding, as Jaffas were fighting and dieing all around. Drakenses were born and bred to be predators, their fight or flight instinct artificially bent toward the former. Every fiber of their body was tensed and ready to pounce, like the big hunting cats they shared a part of their genome with, teeth bared over the low growl barely restrained from their throats. Yet they couldn't afford to succumb to battle frenzy, as the town burnt around them, with houses set on fire by the copious plasma fire going to and fro. They needed to get out. Merarch de Polignac contemplated his options. They weren't numerous. Actually, running for it, shooting whoever stood between them and the gate, seemed the best way to go. Even if the thought of running away was... distasteful. But sometimes you just had to cut your losses.

As it happened, the next event made a decision for him. Later, he only remember a very bright flash that made his visor completely polarize, then, the sensation of being suddenly picked up, tumbling in the air wildly then crashing brutally in something solid. Which, he knew from experience, were the symptoms of being caught in the blast of an explosion. The last conscious thought in his disorientated mind was something along the lines of _Weeeeeee !_

When he woke up after an indefinite period of utter blackout, he was assaulted by pain first – coming from ever fiber of his body. Then the voice of Specialist Aldersson shouting over the ringing in his ears.

"Commander ! Wake up ! Do you hear me ?"

Anton opened his eyes and blinked. His helmet was off, and Aldersson's was bending over him, faceless, but concern palpable in his voice. The sky was black... he focused his eyes. It was smoke, black smoke billowing out and hiding the sun. He then concentrated on the pain signals lancing up from every limb, calling on his biofeedback training and his Drakensis natural abilities to push it away in a corner of his consciousness. After a couple of respirations, it became a dull ache, then a small thing in the background. Then he tried to straighten up. As soon as he stirred, though, Aldersson put a hand on his chest.

"Don't try to move yet, I'm still patching you up. A fucking miracle you're alive, Merarch... we saw you literally flying away like a cannonball -"

Anton interrupted him. "What on Freya's tepid tits happened there ? And what's the team's condition ?"

Aldersson answered as he unplugged the datawire running from his perscomp to Anton's suit. "Big explosion – sub-kiloton, but it flattened most of the town. You were lucky the blast wave actually threw you up in the air and the suit protected you from the burns and overpressure. You landed 'bout five hundred meters away from the perimeter wall and smashed through a couple trees."

"What ?" A incredulous Draka interjected.

"He, those suits do work as advertised, eh ? I s'ppose the designers didn't have smashing through trees in mind when they put in the kinetic reactive layer, though. Mind you, they were small trees, but still... Anyway, you didn't get away unharmed. Half your ribs are cracked, you have a broken left tibia, same for your right humerus, and internal bleeding. Our suit's medical system's taking care of that, it's not life-threatening. And I set it to support your broken limbs, so you'll be able to walk."

"Rayner ? Maxwell ? What's their status ?"

The soldier shifted slightly, as if discomfortable. "Ah, Maxwell's more or less in the same state as you are. Multiple fractures, head trauma, but conscious and able to walk. Rayner... wasn't so lucky." He stood up and extended a hand. Anton took it and hoisted himself up. His left leg was closely supported by the suit, which had gone rigid and acted as a plaster. Now that he was conscious again, painkillers entered his bloodstream, joining the cocktail of nanoscale compounds acting to suppress bleeding and shock as well as accelerate healing. It would still take a few days for the fractures to do so. Looking around, he saw the broken wood marking the way he'd come from and winced.

He turned towards the soldier at his side. "What happened to Rayner ?"

"We only saw Maxwell and you flying out of the explosion. Decurion Rayner's biosigns failed immediately after the blast. Not an outright system failure – I was able to access her suit telemetry for a few minutes afterwards before it shut down. She was flatlined. And..."  
"Talk to me, Aldersson !"

"From what data I could get, her suit was in several pieces. And so was she." He offered his shoulder, and Anton wrapped his good arm around. They started to walk, a bit awkwardly, towards the rest of the squad.

"Crap. Can we recover her ? What's the tactical situation now ?"

"Dubious. There's a lot of burning in what's left of the town, and there are more Jaffas in the area by the minute. Some of those troopships came down too, and there are fighter patrols overhead. Sir, with three effectives, I wouldn't pick a fight right now even if that means leaving her remains behind."

"At least there's nothing on her that points towards Earth. Let's pick up Maxwell and the others and go home. We've learnt enough for today, I think"

_Later, on Bellenos_

Camulus watched the burning city from the safe vantage point of a Hatak hovering four kilometers above. He wasn't quite fuming as much as the brazier below, but he was still angry at the futile gesture. Setting off a naquadah bomb as a "Fuck You" gesture. This was unprecedented in the annals of internecine Goaul'd warfare. Another novelty of this war.

Still, despite the heavy losses, he'd won and sent that worm Dhakhan fleeing like the coward he was. No doubt Yu would punish him for his failure.

Smirking, he watched through the viewport at the ballet of Tel'taks flying over the inferno, dropping their payload of water and heading back to the closest lake. He thought of the aesthetic improvements he would make to the rebuilt city. Less wood, for sure. And the large statue he'd always dreamt of. His effigy, crushing lesser Goaul'ds under his boot. Made of solid gold taken from the wreckage of the destroyed Hataks. How fitting, and sweet.

He took the ornate goblet proffered by the kneeling servant and drank a swill of the rich wine, then waved the maid away. As she stood up and turned away, he slapped her naked butt negligently. She giggled and scampered out of the Tel'tak, followed by the not-too-subtle stares of the Jaffa crew. As she exited the bridge, she crossed the path of Camulus' First Prime, who strode purposefully into the room and came to attention the required five feet from his God. Striking his fist on his chest, he announced "My Lord ! One of the salvage teams in the city found the remains of an unknown enemy warrior !"

Camulus leant towards the Jaffa. This could be interesting. Yu's Guards were dangerous opponents and a match for Lord Anubis' feared Kull Warriors. Indeed, these had initially turned every battle to the Supremacy's advantage, mowing down entire armies of standard Jaffas, before the Alliance came up with an equivalent. Fortunately, the Guards weren't present in large numbers. No Goaul'd was foolish enough to create entire armies of warriors potentially able to threaten their rule, although Anubis was... a special case. As far as Camulus was concerned, the less he had to meet the unsettling Supreme Ruler, the better.

"Have those remains brought up for examination."

"At once, My Lord !"

**Dante Base**

**October 8th, 2_010_**

The soft chime interrupted the base commander's somewhat despondent thoughts. His physical injuries didn't count – those were treated, and anyway they wouldn't have been lethal to a Drakensis. Nor were Maxwell's. Both were fully recovering in a matter of days, helped by the pharmacopeia available in the base's medical wing. No, he couldn't help thinking about Decurion Rayner, the first casualty of this war. One he was directly responsible of, and accordingly, had had to explain during the debriefing. He'd offered Arch-Strategos Schneider his resignation. Which she had immediately refused. Her renewed confidence had comforted him, and the analysts had dismissed his doubts as to the mission's effectiveness. The sensor recordings during the battle were being analyzed, and the Space Force was busy computing estimates for Goaul'd ships firepower and defenses, based on what could be observed. It didn't make it easier to write the letter to Rayner's parents, and he'd felt slightly downbeat ever since his return from the far-away planet.

He glanced at the picture, displayed as an overlay on the panoramic viewport across the marble spa. It had reconfigured automatically to display the feed from the security camera watching his apartment's main door.

"Enter"

The person behind the reinforced door couldn't possibly hear the command, but the computer did, and obediently directed the servo mechanisms to allow access. The thick cermet slab slid silently aside, and the visitor stepped inside.

"Care to join me, Alex ?"

Tetrarch Alexandra Jourdain smiled at the invitation. "Why not, Anton. I can use the relaxation after babysitting those science types all the afternoon."

"Let me guess. Abydos is hot and dusty ?"

Alexandra chuckled at the now traditional joke. "Yeah, and that damn sand gets everywhere, 'specially when the desert wind's blowing." She paused at the foot of the big elevated spa, waiting for the blonde servant to take her uniform slacks off. "I really can't see why Doctor Jackson insists on staying in this desert, digging up rocks like a gopher..."

"Well, he's got his wench to keep him company, at least..."

"Yeah, this Sha're girl. Mind you, he's fucking her silly whenever he's not out playing sandcastles or translating inscriptions. Poor wench must be getting sore down there !"

Anton laughed as Alexandra stepped into the warm water and sat, sighing contently. "Damn this feels good"

Anton glanced at the waiting serf. "Jessica, do work your magic on the poor weary tetrarch here."

Alexandra relaxed and closed her eyes as the girl started to knead and massage her shoulders with consummate skill. She twitched slightly as she felt Anton's hands grab her right foot and pull it toward him, and let out a small moan of satisfaction when he started to gently rub her ankle and leg.

"So how are the colonization effort going over there ? Reading the reports is fine, but I'd rather hear it from the mouth of someone who's been there lately"

She opened her eyes and met his curious gaze over the bubbly surface.

"Very positive overall" she sifted slightly, allowing Jessica to work on her back muscles "We're starting to tap on the mineral resources. Our geologists have identified extensive veins of common metals that are easily accessible, until we develop a proper space industry. More importantly, we found several deposits of energium ore, and the first processing installation went online, which should supply us with several kilograms of the refined stuff every month -"

"That's not much"

"Well" she went to explain "it's pretty much experimental right now, but plans are underway to expand the capacity. The combine folk are confident they can reach a output of several tons in short order – especially since our probes have confirmed the presence of energium deposits in the local asteroid belt."

She paused a moment, letting the fact sink in. Access to large quantities of the material was already starting to bring new possibilities, although the Domination's leadership was adamant on not depending too heavily on an extrasolar resource. Energium power generation was slated to complement high-density fusion, and matter annihilation as a heavy power source. It had the advantage, over the two others, to be easy to scale down, and to need much less cooling, by several orders of magnitude, for the same output.

Anton let go of her right leg and got hold of her left foot, still watching her.

"Speaking of that, how's work on the boost facility going ?"

She nudged her free leg forward, letting her toes poke between his thighs and smiled mischievously. "The, ah, _erection_ is proceeding right on schedule..." Laughter answered her quip, and the male Draka flicked some of the scented bubbly foam at her face.

"Tetrarch, this is not an officially sanctioned way of garnering the favor of your superior officer !" he replied in a mock official tone, the twinkle in his eyes belying his stern face.

"I can think of other ways, then..." she remarked, making a show of running the tip of her tongue on her lip and looking at him with hooded eyes.

"All right" Anton intoned "I presume this is all part of some elaborate test to check my physical recovery..." He pulled on her leg without warning, making her slip towards him. He grinned at her expression of surprise and bent forward.

Much later, Jessica had to mop up a fair amount of spilled water from the marble floor.

"By the Race Spirit, I had almost forgotten the taste of a good steak" Anton almost moaned, eyes closed in appreciation.

"Straight from the Abydos plains" Alexandra replied over her own heavily laden plate. "There are huge herds of cattle down the continent, where nobody set foot before. Buffalo species, albeit with a fair amount of genetic drift" she paused to swallow a humongous bite of the rare meat "and very tasty as you can see"

"Fantastic" the Merarch took a sip of the pre-War vintage he'd extracted from his personal reserve "Abydos is turning very valuable indeed"

"And that's not all" she added while cutting another thick slab of meat "we've introduced modern seeds in the Nilea valley and began reshaping it into modern plantations. Which, incidentally, frees up manpower for the projects elsewhere on the planet. Anyway, we're looking at a twenty-fold increase in yield"

Anton whistled at that. "Twenty's a lot, even with our improved seeds" he remarked, and she went to explain.

"That's because they're going for an intensive setup. It's not something we've been doing on Earth traditionally, as we had ample space - _before the War, _both thought_ –_ but the Agricultural Directorate wants to maximize production right now and is willing to compromise on, quote, traditional Draka plantation values" she flexed her fingers in the air to emphasis her last words.

Polignac shrugged. "Ample time to revert back to traditions when the last Citizen's free from having to eat algae rations !"

The woman nodded heartily, her approval apparent in the large portions of grain mash and steak she was gulping down.

"Oh, and there's plenty of good arable land down south that should be open to colonization as soon as the Archonate goes public with us having conquered a new planet. I've picked myself a spot, in the spaceport area, that looks mighty fine for a domain"

"Thinking of becoming a landholder ?" Alexandra recognized the curiosity, with a slight overtone of concern, in her companion's voice.

"Not in the short-term, or even medium-term, don't you worry !" She smiled reassuringly. "If this goes through, I'll delegate the task of setting up and developing the plantation. My family knows some good overseers. You know," she added, tilting her head slightly "you should think about it yourself. You could have your pick of the finest lands as we survey them."

He nodded at her across the round mahogany table, embroidered tablecloth and precious china. "I thought about it" he raised his crystal glass "there are a few places which look like they might become fine vineyard country, I'll take a decision when the surveys come up with more details."

Leaning back, he set the silver cutlery in his empty plate and pushed it slightly aside. The serf in white household uniform stepped forward from the spot where he'd been waiting obediently, making himself unobtrusive as long as he wasn't needed to refill glasses, and acknowledged the signal to make room for the follow-up. Both Drakas watched him as he efficiently removed the empty plates and dishes and made them almost magically disappear in the wheeled serving cart.

"So, what's next ?"

"Abydos cheese" Anton's eyes widened as he heard the words. "Quite basic, really" Alexandra added, spreading her hands "but hey, it's real cheese made from real milk !"

"White Christ, Alex, you're spoiling me !"

She smiled at his exclamation and put her hand on the male Draka's arm. "I'm glad you feel better, Anton." He answered her smile. "So this was all a cunning ploy to lighten up my mood, eh ?" he jested.

The auburn-haired Draka nodded slightly. "I was a bit concerned, you seemed to take Rayner's death quite badly -"

"She was a damn good soldier" he interjected, a frown clouding his handsome features, "and an old friend too"

"Her death wasn't your fault. Now we know more about the enemy we face. Sometimes you have to pay for knowledge in blood, you know" She pressed his arm gently, looking straight in his eyes. "And we'll avenge her, no doubt about that". His gaze hardened at her words and he clasped his own hand on her arm in the traditional Draka way, returning her pressure.

"We will."

**Unknown location**

Blackness made way to strands of strange wonderful colors. Sensations came back, muted and velvety. Like waking up from a full anesthesia without any memory of dreams, only a featureless black void from where a semblance of consciousness emerged groggily, firming up in what seemed to be hours, but could be mere seconds for all she knew. She felt connected to something and realized it was her body, answering her brain's tentative probes.

Full consciousness returned suddenly, like breaking the surface after a long dive. She opened her eyes, trying to focus on the uniform pale gold surface above her head. She raised her hand, touching it to ascertain its proximity. I felt like soft warm metal, and she realized she was laying on the same material, surrounding her like a coffin. This awareness of her immediate surroundings brought back her last memories before the void. Blinding light. Heat. Motion. Impact. Brief, intense pain fading to black before it had time to fully register.

_Am I dead ?_ She closed her fist and banged the surface, not hard, merely enough to feel her flesh reacting to the shock, and stirred inside the confined space, flexing her legs.

_They don't put lights inside coffins, do they ?_ The whimsical thought reassured her somewhat. Glancing down, she realized she was entirely naked and filed the fact aside, not bothered the least by it. Only curious as to what had happened to her suit. And the rest of the team... and where _was_ she ?

She spotted a crack in the material above her. It was thinner than a hair, invisible if not for her enhanced vision, going all the length of the rectangular panel. She froze as it suddenly became wider, and the halves separated with mechanical smoothness, parting soundlessly like flat scissor blades. Outside was semi-dark, illuminated only by indirect reflections of warm-toned light catching on golden fittings carved into... _hieroglyphs_ ? Her heart rate increased, adrenaline and combat hormones released in her blood stream configuring her body for a fight. She clamped down on the automatic response and concentrated on her environment. Her ears picked a faint infrasonic hum. The kind made by standby power systems or machinery deep inside a construct.

She slowly raised her head to the level of the opening and risked a quick glance around. There was nobody else in the small square room. She rose up, keeping her body bent down in a half crouch and took in the details of her surroundings. Apart from the hieroglyphs covering every square of the golden walls, there was nothing remarkable. The box... no, sarcophagus, she realized, noting the lines of stylized characters running down the surface of the parted panes, was standing on a raised dais in the center.

She stepped out of it, and the panes started to close. She shrugged. Her analytical mind told her it the sarcophagus was probably a medical device of sorts. She had no idea of the extent of her previous injuries, and no way to gauge its effectiveness, yet it seemed to be powerful technology.

And it meant she was in enemy territory.

The door in front of her raised as a question. What was waiting behind it ? The tall woman snorted. Only one way to find out. She approached it. The panels were smooth and the same pale gold hue as the sarcophagus' interior. Next was a control panel of sorts. She looked closer, trying to discern signs of use on the softly glowing red crystals. Aha. One of the buttons had a thicker layer of fingerprints. She took a short, sharp breath and pressed it, hoping for the best and side-stepping out of the doorway. As the panels slid into the walls, she peeked out into the corridor outside. It went on for about ten meters both ways before ending in T-intersections. And it was empty. Although she doubted any sane designer would leave out internal sensors in whatever this place was. At any rate, nobody had tried to stop her until now.

She stepped out, keeping close to the bulkhead. There were rib-like protrusions at regular intervals, and her feet made no sound on the smooth dark floor. She reached the left intersection, and glanced around the corners. Still nobody. The right looked like a dead end, the left branch was terminated by another twin-paneled hatchway. She went to it and pressed the button that apparently was the "open" command on these control panels. The panes slid apart in front of her, and she barely had time to spot the shape behind it before the strand of controlled lightning hit her and shut down her nervous system temporarily.

She felt the slap. And the smell. Burning coal mixed with sweat and the scent of other body fluids. Sometimes, having a super-sensitive sense of smell was a curse. She tuned it out just as another slap landed on her cheek. She opened her eyes, feeling annoyed. Visual examination confirmed what her other senses had told her : her wrists were bound in heavy metal shackles, her arms outstretched over her head as she hung from the ceiling. A bar kept her shackled ankles apart, chained to recessed rings in the floor. She tugged slightly at her restraints, more to test their tightness than try to break them.

The man in front of her saw her stir and leered.

"Those are solid trinium bonds. No _woman_ -he spat the word- could possibly break them, but try if you wish". The voice was unnaturally deep. _A Goaul'd_, she realized.

She relaxed and observed him more closely, keeping her face neutral even though her mind was torn between hysterical laughter and mild concern. The brute in front of her was the spitting image of the proverbial medieval torturer-cum-executioner, clad in rough leather stained with brownish dried blood, and adorned by metal studs and rings. He didn't bother wearing a hood, which was a pity. Nor did he shave regularly. She caught a whiff of his breath and concluded he probably never consulted a dentist. Glancing down, she mentally snorted. Obviously, he enjoyed the sight of her naked chained body. She was far from impressed. The swine was tall by human standard... but she was taller, and he was standing on a stool to hoist himself eye-to-eye. That alone made the whole situation border on the comical, and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly up.

He mistook it or a sign of fright and smirked evilly.

"My name is Bar'shan and you will learn to fear me !" His eyes flashed a golden light and he spat at her face, forcing her to consciously filter out the signals sent by her nose. She stayed silent, her features blank, waiting for him to volunteer more information. Disappointed by her lack of reaction, he punched her in the gut with as much strength as he could muster. Hitting what felt like a brick wall wasn't what he expected. He looked in wonderment at his bruised knuckles, then at her cold eyes, barely-controlled rage rising red on his face. He turned back, striding to the table nearby where an assortment of torture instruments laid. Picking up a studded whip, he grinned at her.

"Let's see how your pretty skin withstands the bite of this baby !"

She forced herself to look straight ahead as he walked behind her, and prepared herself to ignore the coming pain. She tensed as the heavy leather rope whip through the air, the sharp crack preceding the whack of it striking the small of her back. The pain was muted, like sound having to traverse layers of insulation. She relaxed. This was nothing to be afraid of. The physical damage was unlikely to impair her abilities anyway. On the other hand, it might be useful to pretend the torture had an effect.

Bar'shan grunted and struck again, as hard as he could. He was satisfied to see the woman stiffen under the leather bite, and her yelp was music to his ears. He was an odd Goaul'd, noted for his unusual sadism even among his peers, who couldn't be described as kind and gentle. His affectation on keeping a deliberately repulsive appearance and using crude (as opposed to the widely used hand device) means of torture made other Goaul'ds do their best to avoid him. He was effective at his task though, which was why Camulus tolerated his eccentricities, occasionally deigning to observe the proceedings when the captive was another Goaul'd, or better, a Tok'ra.

He struck again, and again, covering the woman's muscular back with streaks of blood and tearing the skin. Her cries had increased to full-blown screams, and the sight of her bloodied body twisting between the restraints with a sheen of sweat aroused his lust. He let go of the whip and cranked the chain keeping her suspended down until she was suitably bent forward.

The whole experience had been slightly uncomfortable until now. She didn't really feel the pain, but screaming and pretending to be in agony got boring. Now, having her arms stretched up and behind her was straining her Drakensis joints a bit. Still, it wasn't painful like it would be for a human. In this position, she had a fairly good idea of what would come next. The Goaul'd didn't seem influenced by her pheromones, but he wouldn't need it. After all, some Citizens used to get their kicks from doing exactly the same to young beautiful serfs. They kept it private, though, or suffered the contempt and scorn of Domination society. Those habits were disappearing anyway as pre-Drakensis citizens died away.

She felt Bar'shan slap her ass cheeks, then his rough hands grabbed a firm hold on her waist. _I can't believe that. He's actually going to try and rape _me_ ?_ More bemused than shocked, she evaluated her possibilities. Breaking out of the shackles was extremely unlikely, and in her position, she couldn't do much against the pig. Better wait it out, make him feel safe and in control.

She tensed and her eyes widened as she felt his choice of entry. She gritted her teeth, then forced herself to relax. _Fucker's going to pay for that !_

What seemed like a long time later, Bar'shan extracted himself, smugly satisfied. After his first thrusts, his captive had stopped thrashing, moaning painfully until his pleasure came. There was nothing he enjoyed more than inflicting pain and degrading his "subjects", and he felt the need to gloat, grabbing the woman's hair to pull her head up so he could directly in her eyes.

"You will tell me everything I want to know, slut !" He slapped her with his free hand, savoring the glint of hatred that flashed in her eyes. He noticed something and looked closer at the cat-like pupils staring at him.

"Your eyes" his voice turned inquisitive "They're not human".

He shook her head roughly. "You're not a Jaffa either". He released her hair and took a step back, taking her whole body in his gaze. "You're a warrior, of a type I've never seen before". He leered at her contemptuously. "Why anyone would send a woman to fight is beyond me."

He walked behind her, as she caught him in her peripheral vision, rummaging on a bench set against the rear wall near a brasier. He came back in front of her, holding something. She recognized a torn and blackened piece of her suit, strands of carbon-polymer pseudomuscles hanging limp and ragged, the mimetic coating dull and crackled.

"Jaffas found your body, burnt and dismembered, in the rubble of Bellenos". He threw the ruined fragment aside. "Unfortunately for you" he cackled "your head and torso were intact enough for regeneration."

_Race Spirit, I was fucking dead ?_ Amazement crept in her mind. If that sarcophagus was so powerful as to rebuild and revive a dead body... the Bioscience Division heads on Earth would damn themselves to grab one. Another realization filled her with consternation. _Shit, he could torture me to death and put me in the bodyshop for another cycle. Rinse and repeat. I've got to escape._

"What was your mission on Bellenos ? Did Yu send you ? Which god do you serve ?" his bark pulled her out of her reflexion.

"Where am I ?"

Bar'shan's eyes flashed in anger. His hand darted to her neck, and he half-squeezed half-pulled, grimacing with hostility.

"I ask the questions here !" He shook her head from side to side, then stopped, satisfied with the look of alarm in her eyes. "I can kill you... I can do anything to you... I'll make you suffer a thousand agonies !"

He released her neck, shoving her away. "Lord Camulus wants answers. Where do you come from ?"

_Damn. I can't answer that very well, can I ?_ She cursed the loss of her suicide pill. There was now way she'd tell the brute about Earth. She kept her mouth shut, looking down at the grimy floor.

The torturer grew impatient with her silence. He growled and spat at her, then walked slowly towards the brazier and made a show of poking the burning coals, making sparks jump up and out. He thrust the metal rod's red-hot tip at her. Seeing her flinch, he smirked maliciously. "I suspect you have a rather high tolerance for pain" he remarked. "Don't you ?" Still smiling, he opened a small box and extracted a small silver disk. He walked unhurriedly in front of her and pushed the coin-sized object on her temple. She felt the cold metal grip at her skin with tiny hooks that somehow grew out of the disk, the yelped as a wave of pain engulfed her. Somehow the device had washed away her bioconditioning, making her feel every sensation coming from her abused pain receptors. She gritted her teeth. Her back ached, every welt feeling as if it were burning. Her abused shoulders were sore as well from supporting the weight of her body in this unnatural position.

Her spartan resolve remained. No matter the pain, she wouldn't betray the Race !

Her determination was cruelly put to the test in the hours that followed. Bar'shan had started with a renewed whipping, striking her legs and breaking the skin of her thighs. Not leaving her time to breathe, he'd made a dozen Jaffas rape her repeatedly. The pain from that was bad (the silver disk apparently blocked pleasure as well), the humiliation was worse. She'd stubbornly ignored Bar'shan's questioning, but she couldn't help screaming when he tore away thin strips of skin from her sides, rubbing the wounds with salt. She'd stopped trying to hold tears of agony, much to the Goaul'ds satisfaction. She applied the lessons received during SpecOps training, trying to concentrate on happy thoughts, and found that imagining her torturer's gruesome death worked better at keeping her mind afloat.

"Still you won't talk, eh ?" Bar'shan finally asked her, amusement painted on his face. Her resistance made it all the more interesting, all things considered. Rarely had a captive managed to hold together like she did. "You know, your god would be proud of you" he commented. "But you will crack eventually, even the Tok'ra do. And in the meantime I will enjoy every second of your suffering." He grinned genially. "After all, not even death can part us, yes ?"

Chuckling, he went to the brazier and came back with the iron poker, whose sharp tip was glowing cherry red. He waved it slowly in front of her, taking in her grimace of pain and fear with delight, watching her eyes follow the sharp end as it danced in her vision with exquisite slowness. Satisfied, he straightened up, looking down at her. "Looks like those silly Jaffas didn't satisfy your feminine appetites much, did they ?" He nodded in mock sympathy. "I know, they're simple, unsophisticated minds. Truth be told, I think you deserve something better." His face changed to a cruel smile, and he added coldly "Something hotter". Her eyes widened in shock, and he cackled manically, walking behind her. He poked her flesh with a finger, and hooted as the abused woman thrashed uselessly in her restraints. He could feel her dread. How much difference a small insignificant device can make, he reflected. It made her feel every torment to the fullest.

He grabbed a firm purchase on her waist, ignoring her shivers of pain, and positioned the glowing tip, then thrust firmly. The irony of a Draka suffering impalement was lost on him, though, but he nonetheless savored her writhing last minutes, alive and unable to escape the agony of her torn insides cooking around the burning metal.

Finally releasing her dead body, he called on for the Jaffas to bring her in the sarcophagus. He had a few hours before she woke up as new. Whistling, he headed to his personal quarters. After the day's exertions, what he needed was a good meal and a slave to fuck.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note **: this chapter is totally M-rated and was very fun to write. As always, comments are welcome... heck, there are only three comments so far. Come on, write something. Even if it's just a couple words, like "Totally Awesome" ;-)

**Chapter 12 - Debts of blood**

Three Jaffas waited, leaning on their staff and trading banter. Waiting hours for the sarcophagus to regenerate the prisoner was boring, but they were used to sentry duty. Besides, they had pleasant things to look forward to.

"I can't wait until she's out of this box and back in her chains" one of them observed, designating the coffin-like device with his chin.

His comrade shifted his footing, leaning on his staff. "Truth be told, I've never seen a woman like that. Rumor has it she's some new warrior from Yu's pathetic alliance." His comment elicited a derisive snort from the third warrior. "Bah ! Have they fallen so low as to use cunts for soldiers ? Our victory is assured then ! She's not even a proper Jaffa !"

The first one nodded. That particular fact had been quite easy to verify. Memories of the rape brought a smile to his lips.

"She may be a poor warrior, but she made for a fine ride" he snickered, thrusting his pelvis forward. "And she was so incredibly hot inside, like on fever or something."

"I gave her the fever with my big staff, ha ha ha" the second one boasted, grasping his crotch with an obscene grin. Both his comrades rolled their eyes. He was such a braggart when it came to his sexual feats. If you'd believe the tales he loved to spin in the barracks, he'd deflowered the Goddess Isis' fabled thousand gorgeous nubile temple maids alone. In one night. And he'd fathered entire armies of little Jaffas all by himself.

"You know what would be nice ?" the second asked, scratching an itch under the cumbersome mail. The other two raised each an eyebrow, and he went on to elaborate.

"If we could have our pick of Chuang-Mu's courtesans, when our Lords crush Yu's pitiful armies" Those were famed across the System Lord domains for their flawless beauty and exquisite training in the arts of love. And an inaccessible dream for ordinary Jaffas. Hearing this, his closest companion snorted and shook his head. "Fat chance, my friend. We'd have to be in the front army, most probably in Lord Anubis' shock Jaffa guard, for this". Seeing him gazing away wistfully, the first warrior elbowed his ribs. "Being in the assault troops means first to die more often than first to loot, you stupid. Here at least we get pussy and we don't take any risk !"

The other two nodded in unison. "Indeed."

Another hour passed. The three Jaffas were getting somewhat restless, having exhausted most stories (which they already knew anyway), and there was only so much local gossip. They also had their warrior pride to maintain, and couldn't lower themselves to the womanly way of trading cooking recipes. It was therefore with considerable relief that finally, they saw the sarcophagus' covers slide open. They snapped back to attention and lowered their staves, pointing them towards the device, but keeping the weapons on safe. It wouldn't do to damage the magical and highly valuable implement. Seconds ticked by. The captive inside didn't show herself, nor did she make a sound.

"Come out, woman !" The senior Jaffa barked. "Don't be afraid, I'll be gentle with you !" he added in a mock-mellow voice. His partners snickered. Nothing happened yet, and he started to be irritated. "I'm losing my patience, silly woman !"

Inside the sarcophagus, Ann Rayner smiled. Nobody seeing that smile would have mistaken it for a benevolent one, for it and the cold open eyes were those of a killer. A very, very angry killer. The fantastic alien machine had erased her grievous wounds, but it had done nothing to the memories, and she was filled with cold rage. Rage at the torture, rage at the rapes, rage at the humiliation. Nobody got away with treating a Draka like that, as she was intent on making this loathsome Goaul'd and his minions understand it. She'd literally drill it in their head. She concentrated on her hearing, listening to the sounds her opponents made breathing and shifting about. She wouldn't give them another chance to stun her.

"All right, cunt, I'm coming for you, you will regret this !" the voice spoke again in the guttural tongue that was the common language among those strange aliens. Footsteps came closer, then the chainmail-clad goon appeared, towering behind her head. Glowering, he thrust his hand inside and grabbed a handful of the copper-red hair. Before he could tug at her, however, Rayner's body flexed up and backwards. Her ankles locked behind his neck and her long legs pulled down. Surprise only started to paint itself on the man's features when she grasped his head between vise-like fingers and twisted brutally, letting out an animal snarl.

Flowing into motion, she rolled into a crouch, leaving behind the limp body slump at the sarcophagus' side, and her eyes swept the rest of the room in an instant. Her mind, pushed into overdrive by the compounds flowing into her bloodstream, analyzed the situation in a fraction of a second, and she jumped up and away, twisting her body in mid-air. At the apogee of her arc, she kicked on the ceiling, thrusting her body back toward the two guards. Her supercharged mind was experiencing the exhilarating state of combat mode, everything slowing down and outlined in crystal clarity. The Jaffas seemed stuck in molasses, reacting to her lightning moves with dooming lateness, and she watched their fire shoot harmlessly below her, their aim not quite fast enough to follow her cat-like acrobatics. She had the time to savor the look of terror on the closest warrior as she dove on him from the unexpected direction, just before her fist slammed into his skull and caved the bones in, killing him instantly. She followed his fall and landed in a short roll, as her last opponent tried to turn frantically and loosed a panicked and poorly aimed shot from his unwieldy staff. Her peripheral vision caught the plasma bolt impacting the sarcophagus square on and she winced internally. _So much for the wonder-tech_. Squatting, she turned on her heel and her right leg swept out, catching the Jaffa's feet and tripping him down. He fell on his back, and the last thing his gaping eyes saw was her outstretched hand slamming down on his throat, avoiding his collar armor. The savage blow crushed his windpipe, tore his neck arteries and went on to smash his spine, granting him a quick and merciful death. He should have been thankful for that, had he stayed alive long enough to reflect on the fact.

She glanced at the regeneration chamber. Sparks and smoke were shooting out of the molten hole, and a buzzing sound increased steadily. This wasn't a good sign, she decided. Moving quickly, she grabbed the dead Jaffa's weapons, then opened the door. Behind her, the sound became a strident whine. Moved by her instinct, she dove out of the room into the empty corridor, landed in a roll and ran to the first corner. Bright light came from behind her, and she barely checked the surroundings before diving out of the way. Just in time. Inside the chamber, the abused machinery died a fiery death, the tremendous energies stored inside its arcane circuitry releasing themselves explosively. The resulting blast shook the complex and charred both the room and a large area of the outside passageway.

A few seconds later, a slightly flustered Draka stood up, brushing dust and soot off her bare skin. Holding her breath and shaking her head, she stepped forward, quickly regaining her full concentration. She looked forward to killing everybody in her path.

_Eight down, four to go_. Rayner didn't give the last group of Jaffas she'd encountered in the complex of corridors another thought. They hadn't lasted more than a few seconds, like the previous patrols she'd ran across, running piecemeal towards the sarcophagus chamber to check on the explosion. A product of a culture founded upon slavery and martial excellence, she was unimpressed. In a similar Draka facility, alarms would be ringing, spaces would be flooded with neutralizing gas, response teams would move in force preceded by microdrones. An escapee would most certainly not be running free and killing small groups of guards left and right. The last fight had increased the body count to fourteen dead Jaffas, among which she'd recognized eight of her rapists. She was hoping to meet the remaining four before she escaped.

Her ears caught the distant trot of more incoming guards. There were more this time, at least six sets of footsteps. Her mind raced. Taking on six at once was iffy, with poor cover, butt-naked and using those badly designed weapons. She looked at the door terminating this section of passageway. She'd checked other rooms along her way, disappointed to find them either empty or locked. Well, there was this gate ending the section of passageway, somehow looking ominous and sinister. She realized it was because of the metal studs and chain links adorning its face. She pressed the opening control and it slid apart. She recognized the smell at once. She knew it from the feral holding compounds established in ex-Alliance lands the years following the Final War. The stench of unwashed and uncared for humanity. And the rich scent of fear and despair. She cocked her head. Cries, moans and wails tickled her hearing. _Guess I wasn't the sole prisoner here._ She shook her head. This was a dead end. Running into what was obviously the local dungeon wasn't the wisest thing to do with pursuers on her heels. She'd be cornered without possibility of exit.

The rushing steps were coming closer. She looked again at her dead opponents and smiled viciously. She recognized the round objects strapped to a dead warrior's belt as stun grenades. She'd seen the same left after the fight in that Egyptian temple. Just what she needed. Grabbing one, she armed it and sent it downrange, angling it to rebound out of the T-intersection where the coming Jaffas were now on the verge of appearing. For safety's sake, she turned her face away and covered her ears, not before catching the profanities that greeted the ball-like object.

Intense pulsing light illuminated the walls, followed by the sounds of bodies slumping down and clattering metal. The Draka soldier ran to the commotion, staff ready. The grenade had done its job rendering the Jaffas unconscious. She started to give each a shot to the head, then did a double-take at the last one, recognizing the face. A massive man, he'd been equally at home in the Janissary corps, and he could show them something about barbarism. Her body uncontrollably shivered, remembering the rape and the bastard's taunting jeers as he'd violated her not one but three times, each worse and more painful than the last. Her features set in a mask of hate, she aimed her staff at his crotch and fired. The man's eyes shot open, and after his brain processed what had happened, he screamed and tried to sit up. His head met the swinging solid end of her appropriated staff, and the hard metal pulped his mouth, shattering his jaw and sending blood and teeth flying. His scream mutated into a burbling wail as his head bounced on the unyielding floor. Sneering, she kicked his charred groin, drawing out another agonizing scream.

"Pity I don't have the time to _play_ with you properly, you disgusting swine !"

She spat on his ruined face, then aimed her weapon again, savoring the look of terror in the Jaffa's gaping eyes.

"Now tell me where your master is, and I'll end your suffering" she asked in a cold flat voice.

"Ne'er ! Ah 'ond 'e'ay 'i 'od !" the wreck managed to let out, blood dribbling from his split lips.

_Shit, shouldn't have smashed his jaw, _she realized belatedly, cursing herself. "Then enjoy this !" she hissed, thumbing the trigger for a low powered shot. The downed Jaffa shrieked as the hot plasma burnt into his Prim'tah pouch, killing the symbiote instantly. Steam rose, mixed with the smell of scorched flesh, and Rayner grinned. "A slow and painful death is all you deserve, son of a whore" she commented before leaving the dead and dying behind. Reaching the intersection, she turned in the direction the Jaffas had come. It was the only one she hadn't already explored anyway.

She climbed a spiraling stair and reached the next level. She noticed the change in tone. The walls were more richly decorated, adorned with flowing geometric reliefs and stylized shapes. Paintings were hanging at regular intervals, and she committed them to her photographic memory. They were describing scenes of torment with life-like fidelity, some similar to what she'd experienced, others more horrific even. No Draka was squeamish, even less Drakas who'd seen war and the pacification sweeps, but Rayner grimaced nonetheless at a particularly appalling depiction of a terrified young girl, not even a teenager yet, spread-eagled on her back while a smiling Bar'shan cut open her stomach with a serrated knife that wasn't the first bladed implement to enter her body.

_I've seen and done many things but that's just sick,_ she thought with repulsion.

She was pulled out of her reflexion by the far door opening and two Jaffas stepping out, their heads covered by a large helm shaped like a cobra's head. They were tactically aware and their weapons were ready, but their reactions weren't quite fast enough to compete with the Drakensis. Both fell back in quick succession, a smoldering hole burnt in their torso.

The decurion took note of the unfamiliar design, moving up in a low crouch. The gate was still open, and beyond it laid a large richly decorated hall. Slender stone pillars supported the high ceiling where glazed openings let sunlight pour in, illuminating the golden walls, exquisite precious wood furniture and polychromatic marble floor. Fruits and refreshments were laying on the tables, waiting to satiate hunger or thirst.

What attracted her gaze, however, was the tall bronze-paneled set of doors on the far wall, framed by pink marble. She walked towards the portal, firing shot after shot of high powered plasma until she burnt a hole through. The smoking gates finally burst open, beating back into the newly revealed chamber.

While not as large as the hall, it was spacious and airy and just as richly decorated. The far side was taken by a truly humongous bed whose white linen sheets were crumpled and speckled with blood. Rayner's nose picked up the thick scent of body secretions and saw Bar'shan standing in near the bed, glowering at her defiantly. She instantly loosed another shot, aimed low at his legs. Her eyes widened when the plasma bolt dissolved harmlessly on the Goaul'd personal shield, which shimmered briefly in the air. She shot again, with the same effect, and Bar'shan roared in laughter. "You cannot harm me, for I'm a God !" he proclaimed, raising his hand. Ann noticed the intricate and jewel-like device encasing his palm and fingers, reached the right conclusion, and dove out of the way of the energy blast. Rolling back to her feet, she fired a last full-power shot that caught the bed, shattered it and set it ablaze. The weapon's shaft was now burning in her hands, and she thrust it like a spear toward the Goaul'd. The metal pole flew straight and true, impacting the being's chest and the large ornate medallion he wore. She smiled as the red crystal in the center splintered and fizzled. Seeing Bar'shan's look of consternation as he reeled back from the shock, she smiled savagely, knowing she'd made the right guess.

She prepared to leap on him, then launched herself sideways to avoid another kinetic blast that ripped a lighting fixture away from the wall. As she raised again, she saw him dash with surprising speed to a newly revealed opening in the far wall and disappear out of the room. She launched herself behind him, intent on catching her torturer and exerting retribution, before she burst a series of curses to make a Janissary blush as the wall closed again, mere feet ahead. She stopped and kicked it uselessly. The solid barrier didn't budge. She ground her teeth then took a deep breath, turning around.

At this moment, her brain caught up with something it had registered when she'd entered the chamber and filtered away as irrelevant, in her single-minded focus on Bar'shan. Cowering in the right corner from the doorway was a human female, naked and bleeding from bites and scratches. An iron collar kept her chained to a heavy ring on the wall, and her teary eyes were wide with apprehension.

Rayner strode to the quivering creature, and squatted in front of her, sympathy and concern painted on her face. Reaching out, she gently swept away the blonde hair, uncovering the woman's reddened features. _Not a bad-looking one, although she's not in a great shape right now,_ she commented to herself. Taking the chained female's chin between her fingers, she opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. _I'm not here to rescue damsels-in-distress. I'd better hurry and leave this place before reinforcements arrive. _Frowning slightly, she shook her head and rose up. She went to retrieve the staff, moving quickly, and paused again near the door. Shrugging, she aimed and fired a shot, before turning away and walking through the threshold.

"Please !"

The half-strangled cry made her stop in her tracks. She stood under the doorway, her back feeling the heat given by the burning wreckage of the bed.

"Please !" the trembling voice repeated, a little more assured. "Don't leave me !"

The Draka took a step back and cocked her head toward the captive, her eyes inquisitive.

The abused creature stirred away from the wall, coming to her knees, the shortened length of chain still attached to her. With a supplicating look, she spoke again. "I know how to escape this place ! I beg you !"

Rayner's mind raced. A second later, she stepped toward the woman, bent and pulled her up. Staring straight in her eyes, she asked "Can you walk ?". A convulsing nod answered her. "Follow me."

She walked quickly, her long legs moving her at a pace the other woman had to jog to follow. Following her rescue's indication, both found their way out of the pyramid-shaped building, having dispatched another Jaffa patrol in the corridors. Bar'shan's den rose in a clearing, and the Draka's keen vision spotted numerous Jaffas a half-mile away on her left, running from what appeared to be wooden barracks.

"The Chappai lies in this direction !" the human female pointed to the forest in front of them, away from the incoming warriors. Rayner glanced at her, taking in her weakened state. She had trouble just jogging, the cause being apparent in the bruises and dried blood between her thighs. "All right" she hoisted the smaller woman in a fireman's carry. "Hold on" she stated firmly.

As she ran towards the wood, faster than a human despite the body she carried, plasma bolts flew overhead, wildly inaccurate at this distance. The spotty fire subsided when the trees concealed the fugitives, and it took five minutes at Rayner's sprinting pace to reach the small clearing where the planet's stargate was standing. She stopped in front of the dialing stand, and keyed the coordinates for Abydos. "Where are we going ?" asked the voice on her back.

Unseen by her charge, the Draka soldier smiled. "Home." The gate spun, chevrons locking in succession. "Thank you" gratitude shone in the woman's tone. She sounded less frightened. "By the way, my name is Anise" she added. The ring stopped spinning and the familiar molehole settled in its stable state. Rayner jogged to the threshold, then half-turned. Staring coldly in the direction where Bar'shan's Jaffas did their best to run after the two fugitives, still invisible hundreds of meters behind, she opened her mouth a last time before stepping through the shimmering event horizon.

"I'll be back !"

**Abydos, Stargate Compound**

Klaxons started to scream while the synthetic voice of the defense computer core repeated its programmed message "Unscheduled stargate activation, all military personnel to fighting stations" over every loudspeakers and communication relay. Automated turrets popped out of the wide ceracrete ring encircling the spinning molehole generator, autocannons ready to spit thousands of rounds per second and secondary non-lethal weapons ranging from stunners to quick hardening foam projectors. Priority overrides were sent to every aircraft flying in the Compounds air control zone, sending aircars and VTOL transports down for emergency landings in the desert.

On the ground, a thick cermet slab slid to block the ring's sole exit, instantly making the space around the stargate a killing ground, while the Draka soldiers and Ghouloon troopers of the alert-duty century took fighting positions on the ring. More firepower was mobilizing in the half-buried vehicle parks and barracks located around the enclosure, ranging from battle-armored infantry to Hond IV main battle tanks and Rhino gunships, when the molehole settled.

Inside the meter-thick walls of the command center, the centurion on duty watched the forces under his command deploy in a text-book manner on the surveillance screens. A glance at the green status board told him every defensive installation was operational, ready to spit fire at his whim. Yet, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

A few seconds elapsed while nothing happened, then someone stepped out of the water-like surface. The officer's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing the face looking at him on the zoomed display.

"I'll be damned !" he managed to stutter. The molehole disengaged, and he thumbed the intercom.

"Ann ! Is that you ?"

Ann Rayner recognized the disembodied voice coming from the concealed loudspeakers and smiled with relief.

"Yes, Alan, it's me"

"You were listed as dead ! How did you... ?" trailed the voice with mixed disbelief and wariness.

"Long story, I'm in for a lengthy debriefing" she shot back, walking a few steps away from the dormant gate. She dropped her staff and put the female she carried down on her feet. "And this is Anise, I... picked her up on the way, let's say."

Inside his bunker, the centurion chuckled, detailing the two womens' rather intriguing appearance. Both were stark naked, grimy and sweaty, congealed blood sticking in several places, and the blonde wore a iron collar attached to a length of chain dangling at her side. _Loki's dick, there's an interesting story there !_ he thought briefly, before training and procedures came back on the forefront of his mind. He inputed his personal code, a sixteen-character long alphanumeric sequence, and ordered the robotic defenses to stand down. Turrets retracted and gunports closed along the ring's length, but the soldiers remained on position, rifles aimed at the arrivals and fingers ready on the triggerguards.

He spoke again. "You know the drill, we have to make sure you're really who you are and check on your... acquaintance"

Rayner merely nodded, standing hands on her hips, immobile as only Drakas could be. She watched the cermet slab slide open, revealing the wider one acting as a chicane beyond the enclosure's entrance. She was totally calm, which wasn't the case of the rescued prisoner. Anise looked up at the taller female, only now starting to grasp the feats she'd just witnessed. Like effortlessly fighting off numerous Jaffas. Or running at a speed no human should be capable of, naked. Or the subtle but noticeable physical differences. And now the impressive collection of firepower arrayed around them. Wonderment painted on her features, she asked the only question she could come up with.

"Who... who _are_ you ?"

The Draka's head pivoted toward her, still smiling, but now with a hint of cold steel in her eyes.

"Why, my name is Ann Rayner, and we'll get to know each other much better_,_ pretty girl". Seeing the look of shock coloring the smaller woman's countenance, she went on in a more soothing tone. "Don't give me that frightened rabbit look, wench ! I'm not going to treat you like that Goaul'd bastard did. After all, I saved you, didn't I ?"

Two hours later, the resurrected Draka was eating her first meal since her ordeal and replenishing her energy reserves. The meat and mash tasted delicious, and had actually brought tears of joy as she'd savored the first bites. It certainly went a long way to make her forget she was inside a sealed isolation chamber, albeit a relatively spacious and comfortably furnished if utilitarian one. Anise had already finished eating and was eying her with a mix of curiosity and awe at the gargantuan portions of food the athletic woman was ingesting. Both had been taken away from the ring on sealed gurneys and brought to the compound's biocontrol section, where hermetically suited doctors and attendants had submitted them to various tests and scans, taking blood and genetic samples for further examination under the watchful eye of security guards armed with stunners.

Both wouldn't be let out of isolation until it was made certain that they didn't carry any unwanted surprise. Institutional paranoia was the operative word, as the Domination knew, from its own experience, how potent bioweapons could be. Additional, in-depth checks were planned after the subjects had had time to rest. Not a cell of their body would be spared from scrutiny.

While she'd underwent the first batch of exams, Rayner had been given a summary debriefing with the commander of the Abydos Gate Compound. The cohortarch hadn't been able to conceal her amazement and anger at the things she'd experencied, and left with the promise of a detailed, written after-action report. An outgoing molehole was scheduled for the next hour, and news of Rayner's miraculous resurrection would reach Dante Base by then.

In the meantime, both women were quartered together. Other Drakas had winked at Rayner knowingly, and while a fair amount of debriefing and questioning was to be expected, the red-haired Drakensis already considered Anise to be her property. Of course, she was willing to use kid gloves in taming the alien woman, out of understanding for the torment she'd been suffering at Bar'shan's hand, especially since she'd experienced it herself. At least her pheromone control seemed to be working somewhat, the lithe blonde had lost some of her skittishness. Yet, her eyes were still haunted whenever she stared away, and she had the tendency to recoil from sudden movements around her.

_Should be expected_, Rayner thought. _How long had Bar'shan been torturing and raping her ? No wonder she looks traumatized. Hell, even I feel cold when I recall what he did to me. _

She finished her meal and pushed away her plate. Smiling warmly, she met her companion's eye and reclined on her seat. "Well, Anise, will you be a good wench and put the trays aways ?" She indicated the rectangular opening in the wall where the food had come through a utility hatch.

Anise mind snapped of her contemplative state. "Oh, yes, of course" she spluttered, before she rose up and gathered the empty dishes. Cat-pupiled blue eyes followed her movements as she walked to the wall orifice then back, sashaying in the light blue fabric of the hospital gown she'd been given on arrival. She stood before Rayner, a timid smile highlighting her high cheekbones. "So, what now ?"

"Now we can get some well-earned rest until the docs begin their poking and prodding again" Stretching languidly, the Draka eyed the human mischievously. "There's a bed and it's large enough for two." She chuckled as the other woman's sudden blush, and added "I'm _really_ looking forward to sleeping, you know !" before rising up from her seat with flowing grace and putting her hand on the blonde girl's shoulder. Anise looked up at the smiling woman towering over her and found herself returning a smile of her own, then yelped in surprise as her savior swept her off her feet. The next instant, she was gaping at decurion Rayner's grinning face, as the strong arms irresistibly carried her to the queen-sized bed waiting in the next room. Her body unconsciously relaxed in the warm embrace and felt strangely like protesting when it was laid down on the soft sheets, only to spontaneously nestle against the larger one when it settled down close by. It felt incredibly good, luxuriating in the warmth radiating from the larger body enfolding her own in a tight hug. It felt so good, after months of mistreatment by the sadistic Goaul'd, that she fell asleep before she could think anything about her situation.

_Mmmmm._ Consciousness returned, the veil of blackness lifting up to allow thoughts and sensations to reach her mind again. Anise stirred slightly and felt around with her hand, trying to find again the source of this incredible warmness she remembered. She patted crumpled sheets, rolled on her back then stretched languidly, relishing the soft touch of clean fabric under her arms and legs.

"Good morning, Anise"

The blonde woman opened her eyes. Leaning nonchalantly in the doorway was her rescuer, smiling.

"Time to wake up, you've been sleeping for ages. Fifteen hours, in fact."

Her still fuzzy brain processed the fact laboriously. Her blank face must have registered, as the tall redhead went on. "No thing like a hot shower in the morning. Come on !"

_A shower ?_ Anise remembered the previous day. One of the first things done at the medical wing had been cleaning her of the blood and grime encrusted on her skin. How good the hot water had felt, running on her abused body. In fact, it had been entirely too short. She'd been rushed to the first exams before she was even completely dry.

She didn't mind prolonging the experience this time. Groaning slightly, she swung her legs down, then her torso followed upright. Wobbling a bit, she raised her hand to hide a yawn, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.

"Come on, sleepy head !" She smiled at the light taunt and followed the Draka out of the bedroom, her paper slippers shuffling soundlessly on the polished floor.

She stepped thinklessly in the wide shower stall. Reaching for the control panel, the amused voice behind made her pause suddenly.

"Aren't your forgetting something ?"

Her eyes widened in realization and she blushed in embarassment. Turning back, she smiled ruefully, shaking her head.

"Oh, I _really_ need to wake up !" Bending down, she removed her slippers and put them down neatly close to the transparent door, then undid the buttons of her gown. She didn't feel any awkwardness. Months of continued sexual exploitation had made her rather unconcerned with nudity. And although memories of her life before were clouded and filled with images that didn't quite make sense, a strong sense of modesty didn't seem to figure in. Besides, her companion was already naked and did not show a hint of self-consciousness, exsuding instead a quiet sense of assurance and, well, Anise couldn't help but stare at the tall woman's incredibly fit body, until her own gaze met the twinkling blue eyes looking expectantly. Blushing, she looked aside, cleared her throat, stepped out of the fallen gown and kicked it aside, before retreating into the stall and hitting the touch-sensitive panel. Heated water spurted from the gleaming spouts overhead and on the sides, jolting her fully awake at last. Closing her eyes, she turned in place, letting the multiple streams cover every inch of her skin in hot bliss. She barely heard the glass door closing, but felt the strong presence moving close to her. Opening her eyes again, she swept aside the wet hair sticking down her forehead and grinned widely.

"This is wonderful" she stated, somewhat needlessly. Rayner could see and feel the smaller woman's relaxed state as well as her increasing arousal, awakened by the pheromones flowing in the enclosed space and the sensual caress of the water.

Returning the happy grin, she tapped the blonde's nose lightly with an extended finger.

"Why don't you go ahead and get some soap on me, pretty wench ?" she suggested with just a hint of mischief in her voice, then turned her back, looking over her shoulder from the corner of her eye.

Anise blinked and nodded, eagerness coloring her smiling face. She reached for the dispenser and squirted the fragranced gel-like substance in her palm. She sniffed it. It smelled pleasantly, like flowers and citrus. With only a slight hesitation, she started to lather the Draka female's back, starting at the broad shoulders and making her way downward. Her fingers traced circles on the supple skin, feeling the hard muscles flowing undereath as Rayner shifted slightly. _By the stars, this woman's so strong_, she marveled. _And she makes me feel so..._ She froze for a fraction of a second, realizing what her senses were telling her. Mouth slightly agape, she tried to reason. _I can't be that horny after what Bar'shan did to me ! And I'm still bruised inside, for Elders' sake !_

She didn't have time to reflect more, as the taller woman spun in place. Her shocked mind didn't quite realize what was happening until it was done. She felt two steel-like hands grasp the base of her head and irresistibly push her chin up, just in time to feel a burning tongue slither between her lips and dart inside her mouth, sending jolts of intense pleasure down her spine to fan the fire blazing between her tighs. She remained motionless for an instant, then rational thought thoroughly deserted her mind and she felt herself give in unconditionally. Her own tongue twisted and rubbed against the invading one and she sucked hungrily at the lips covering her mouth, inhaling the woman's breath and unknowingly flooding her brain with lust-laden pheromones. Moaning, she pushed herself against the strong body, grabbing the powerful shoulders, and entwined her right leg around the long muscular thigh before rubbing avidly on the smooth wet skin.

She gasped as a hand released her neck and slithered down to cup her breast, fondling the soft flesh and kneading her erect nipple, then slid behind her. Anise arched her back. Nails traced a path along her spine, from the base of her skull down to her waist, and up again, sparking additional shivers of thrill. Writhing under the concerted assault on her senses, she lost track of time, reveling with abandon in the mounting waves of pleasure washing on her nerves. Her flesh burnt under the caress of hands strong enough to snap a Jaffa's arm in half, yet gentle as their asserted their possession upon her.

"Now, pretty creature" her savior's lust-filled voice murmured at her ear "you belong to me." Teeth gently bit her lobe, and Anise could but nod weakly and bury her face into the woman's neck, kissing passionately the spot where it joined the shoulder. As far as her clouded mind was concerned, this woman could do with her as she pleased. It just felt right this way. She couldn't think of anything else to do but surrender her will and blissfully submit to the fierce embrace.

The blonde woman gave herself to the caress and wailed and bathed in orgasmic glory for what felt like an unending moment, until the receding aftershocks of ecstasy left her panting in the Draka's supporting arms. At last she met her lover's steady gaze with eyes burning with passion, and spoke with sudden resolution.

"I'm yours, yes". She breathed quickly. "You saved me..." She blushed even harder. "and you drive me crazy" she finished with a sheepish smile. "I don't know how."

Ann Rayner took a small step back, putting both hands on the smaller woman's shoulders. She stared down at the expectant face for a moment, motionless. At last she answered.

"Indeed you're mine, Anise. Your life is mine to do as I please, from now on and for the remainder of your life." She paused, letting her words sink in. "You will obey me, or your life will be forfeit," she added just the necessary hint of steel in her voice. "Do you fully understand this ?"

Anise nodded as she tried to wrap her head around her new condition. It didn't sound quite bad. And her new mistress certainly appeared capable of protecting her. She hadn't hurt her... much the contrary.

"And you'll address me as 'Mistis' from now on, my lovely wench" the Draka elaborated. "It means 'master' in my language, which you'll have to learn"

"Yes, Mistis"

_Good wench_, Rayner thought. _Now let's try her out_. She pulled the blonde woman toward herself and pushed her down to her knees at the same time, delighted to feel only token resistance. She grinned down and wrapped a leg around the blonde's back, pushing herself at her slightly shocked face.

"Now, I believe you know what to do, pretty wench !"

***

"It's damn good to see you" Anton de Polignac's simple, heart-felt statement spoked for everyone involved in the Stargate Project. He stared through the glass separation at the woman he'd left for dead on a planet far away. "I couldn't believe the message from Abydos at first."

Ann Rayner chuckled. "To be honest, Anton, I'd find it difficult to believe as well, if it weren't me coming back from the dead !" She touched the transparent partition lightly. "Yet here I am. With a brand new body, you could say"

Her detailed written report flashed again through her commander's memory. He'd been torn between elation at his friend's survival, wonder at the prodigious power of the alien technology, and pure unrestrained fury at her torture. He swore to make Bar'shan pay. Unfortunately, intel was scarce. The only sure thing was that the prison planet wasn't Bellenos. Its address wasn't known, nor its name. There was a sliver of hope nonetheless, in the person of Anise, the captive rescued from Bar'shan's bed. She had to know something. Besides, the mere fact that she'd been a prisoner of the Goau'ld made her case interesting. There was a hitch, though. She didn't seem to have any firm memories beyond a couple of months, and those were limited to the layout of Bar'shan's pyramid and its immediate surroundings, including the Jaffa barracks where she'd regularly been gang-raped.

"This... sarcophagus device sounds like magic, you know" he replied. "Mention of it has passed to the higher-ups, and they're already clamoring for us to do everything to acquire more information, or even a functional one."

Rayner was only mildly surprised. "I wish I knew the planet's address" she answered with a touch of regret in her voice.

Her commander shook his head.

"Don't fret over this, nobody's going to second-guess what you did" he stared directly at her "not after what you went through". Seeing her wince slightly, he leant forward and put his own hand on the glass partition. "How are you coping with the memory ? Do you need help ?"

Ann recognized the concern coloring his words. It was her time to shake her head. "Thank you, Anton, but I can deal with it. I'm a Draka" her eyes flashed briefly "and the only help I need bears the name Tolgren on it" she finished with a thin smile. Anton chuckled and spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm glad to hear that. And I promise you, we'll do everything to find this Bar'shan, and pay him a nice friendly visit"

"I'm very much looking forward to that" the female Draka concluded, crossing her arms.

At this moment, the room's door opened with a hiss of compressed air, and both Drakas watched a grey-haired man step in, clad in the regular white utilities of a Medical Corps officer instead of the sealed protective suits worn, until now, by everyone around the two patients.

"So, I guess I'm not carrying around any dangerous pathogen, Doc ?" Rayner asked.

The man shook his head, smiling quietly. "As far as we can tell, there's nothing contagious or uncalled for in your tissues. And believe me, it would have to be incredibly wicked to escape our scrutiny. We designed the Stone Dogs, after all." He paused. "However, while this alien machine perfectly recreated your body after you got blown apart, the detailed scans of your brain show very minute anomalies".

"What kind of anomalies ? I feel perfectly fine inside" the patient shot back, standing hands on her hips.

The doctor went on to elaborate, unflustered. "Very minute anomalies, I did say. But they weren't present on your last comprehensive check. Without delving into the details, which I'm leaving to the written report I'll file, those alterations are located in cerebral areas associated with several known mental conditions, predominantly paranoia, personality disorders and megalomania." He paused, letting the facts sink in, then went on. "I found this particularly interesting with regards to the psychological profile on those Goau'lds. In your case" he nodded at the unmoving redhead "the alterations are far too minute to affect your mind, and will resorb in time, but say those Goau'lds have been using the sarcophagus for centuries, maybe millenia, to prolong their life" he saw understanding dawn in the two Drakenses' eyes "it would produce, ah, interesting results." he concluded. "Of course, it's only a theory at this point, but..." he shrugged, then looked at Rayner and Polignac in turn.

"You're fit for duty, so I'm releasing you. I'll just make a not in your medical record about the need to monitor those brain anomalies, but like I said, they shouldn't ever become a problem."

"What about my serf ?" the former patient asked pointedly.

"I was coming to it" the medical officer replied unhurriedly. "First, the microbial flora she's carrying is of a different composition than that found on Earth humans, unsurprisingly, and diverges significantly from that common among Abydosians. There's nothing malicious, but left unchecked, she could have trouble adapting. Things like flu, or the runs"

Rayner nodded, this was to be expected. The doc went on. "For that, we gave her the tailored cocktail we designed for this very contingency. It will take care of incompatibilities, and includes a standard immunization package." He frowned. "There's something else, though."

"What ?" Polignac and Rayner asked in unison.

"Her blood contains trace amounts of energium and protein compounds associated with Goaul'd symbiotes"

"WHAT ?" both Drakenses blurted out in surprise.

The doctor raised his hands in a reassuring gesture. "No, she's doesn't have one in her body – we'd have caught it right at the gate. I'd say instead that she was a host, but not anymore. A genuine host, not a Jaffa, it goes without saying"

Silence reigned in the room for a couple of seconds. Then Anton spoke, his voice barely distorted by the intercom. "Well, this is going to be interesting."

* * *

_This is going to be interesting,_ thought Bar'shan. The ranks of Jaffas arrayed before the Chappai were a heartening sight. The bulk of his strength was unfortunately engaged along the warriors of Camulus on other worlds, but the two hundred silent, stone-faced soldiers about to cross the void between worlds were among his best and finest and hopefully bring answers to the questions running in Bar'shan's mind ever since he'd extracted the last dialed address from the crystalline memory of the Chappai's control pedestal. A long forgotten place, associated to the lord Ra. This alone was puzzling. It was widely believed that Ra had retreated from the galactic scene, second hand reports, rumors, and stories indicating that he wanted to be left alone. Did he have something to do with that cursed female prisoner ? Finding the answer could be a valuable piece of information to trade.

A nagging voice kept coming to the surface of his conscious mind. _You should ask for Camulus' assistance_, the little voice said. He brushed it away. Camulus would ask why, and Bar'shan didn't want to admit the captive's escape. Not unless he had some good news to offset the bad. Besides, two hundred warriors should be more than enough to secure the other side or at the minimum make a fighting retreat through the Chappai.

"Jaffa ! Kree !" he bellowed.

"KREE !" two hundred throat roared back.

Smirking, Bar'shan started to input the coordinates for Abydos.

* * *

"Unscheduled stargate activation" the alarm and klaxons rang for the second time in three days. VTOL and aircar pilots cursed again as they were brutally forced to land, soldiers ran to their fighting positions with the ease born of training, and defenses carefully maintained against the sandy environmen of Abydos sprang to life with oiled smoothness.

One Merarch de Polignac and one Decurion Rayner (with a dazed serf on her shoulder) burst into the command bunker just as the molehole activated, having been on their way to the Stargate themselves, just in time for the blast door to close behind them. The duty Centurion barely gave them an acknowledging glance, intent on the repeater screens.

A small silvery ball flew out of the event horizon and rolled down in front of the gate. The Goaul'd shock grenade then activated, flooding the ring's interior with a pulsing light that would have been blinding to a naked eye, but merely inconvenienced battlesuited soldiers. Moved by a sudden inspiration, Anton moved forward and spoke hurriedly.

"Centurion, retract the turrets and tell the men to hide, now !"

Two seconds later, Jaffas began to pour out in pairs, fanning around the stargate, staves pointed outward, and obviously puzzled at the tall surrounding wall leaving no visible exit, and the apparent lack of opposition. Their concentric ranks swelled as more arrived, looking at the ominous vertical cliff around them with wary eyes. The last Jaffas finally stepped through, flanking a smug looking Bar'shan, confident in the superiority of his troops and the safety of his repaired and reinforced (if lacking in aesthetics as a result) personal shield. The molehole shut down, and silence fell on the circular enclosure.

"Well I'll be fucked" muttered a thoroughly thunderstruck Ann Rayner, barely louder than the background whirr of ventilation.

Polignac shook his head slowly, looking disgusted. "Our little friend down there is." He rolled his eyes and added in a rhetorical tone "I wonder, does every Goaul'd in the universe suffer from a case of terminal dimness ?"

He was answered an instant later. Bar'shan's eyes flashed, and his deep voice boomed in the bunker's confines, faithfully relayed by the sound pickups.

"Whoever is cowering behind this wall, come forward and kneel before your god !"

The three Drakas stared incredulously, then burst in hysterical fits of laughter. Finally, the Merarch bent over the main microphone, keying the circuit to respond.

"Um, sorry to disappoint, but we don't believe in gods"

The Goaul'd stood in place for a couple of seconds, clearly unused to be addressed so casually. He scowled and answered, looking around.

"Your cannot be without a god ! This planet belongs to Ra !"

"We know Ra. Is he a friend of yours ?" the infuriating voice replied.

Bar'shan paused a second. "Yes, and I demand to see him !"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry" the mocking tone immediately belied the statement "but I'm afraid that Ra's dead."

"Then I claim his domains, and you will heretofore worship me as your god !" the Goaul'd proclaimed.

The merarch and the decurion exchanged a glance that meant _I told you so._ Anton nodded at the centurion looking at him expectantly. "Just show our strength for now".

Inside the ring, waiting Jaffas recoiled instinctively as the wall's turreted weapons sprang out suddenly, the unfamiliar yet unmistakable mechanisms tracking along their ranks. Still, they held their ground, staves crackling and ready to fire but held in check. Murmurs ran along the ranks when faceless armored shapes took positions behind the concrete crenellations encircling the Chappai from a hundred meters away, aiming unknown weapons at them. Even from the distance, the anomalous size and proportions of their opponents were impossible to miss.

Around Bar'shan, his close bodyguards looked at him with a little anxiety. And the Goaul'd himself started to fret, and the little nagging voice spoke aloud in his mind. _Told you so !_

At this moment, the Draka spoke again, amplified and reverberated around the circular wall. "You're not our god, and this planet belongs to the Domination of the Draka. I suggest that you leave immediately and never come back."

The ugly Goau'ld lord bit down a sigh of relief. Were these "Draka" stupid ? Of course he would take the offer to leave... then he would return with a fleet and teach them the error of their godless ways ! Visions of power swam before his eyes. Ra's fabulous domains would be his ! No more should he remain a second-rank player on the galactic scene. At last his long-restrained ambitions would come true, ambitions of becoming a full-blown System Lord.

Careful not to show a revealing smirk, he answered the disembodied voice.

"I shall leave then." He bowed slightly. No harm in letting the natives believe he was actually sparing them slavery.

"Send one of your guards to dial the Chappai, unarmed"

Right on cue, the massive blast door began to slide away, leaving a passage just wide enough for a man. Bar'shan glanced at the closest Jaffa and waved him forward dismissively. The warrior dropped his staff and trotted out of the arena, disappearing behind the tall barrier. He was met by four Drakas in armor, who wordlessly gestured for him to follow them. Along the way, he couldn't help but stare at the leading pair's backs with curiosity. He was especially intrigued by the armor they were wearing. The overlapping plates looked markedly different from Jaffa mail, and the surface sported what the warrior understood to be camouflage adapted to the desert.

His professional estimation clearly marked those people as fellow warriors. This was evident in the way they moved, supply and silently. Could they really not worship a god ? he wondered. This was blasphemous, unnatural. Distressing. He couldn't fathom that Bar'shan would leave them alone, but right now, he rather felt relieved that he wouldn't have to fight them in what was clearly a disadvantageous position.

The group reached the rear of a half-buried building. A heavy-duty door was set recessed into the thick ceracrete wall Two short stairs on each side led down to the small trench going to the bunker's entrance. The Jaffa couldn't help but be impressed by the obvious effort gone into making this place dificult to assault. Yes, it would be wiser to bombard this compound from a high-flying Hatak, he reflected, just before he stepped into the buried structure. Inside, another chicane wall greeted him, then, finally, standing in the middle of a smallish room, was the Chappai's dialing pedestal. Giant screens on the wall showed the circular enclosure from several angles. The Jaffa spared a single glance to his companions and his god waiting there, and walked to the circular keyboard, oblivious to the four gurdians standing behind him. He started to enter the combination for their departing planet.

Bar'shan watched the Chappai begin to spin, its chevrons locking one after another with a sharp metallic sound. He took a few steps aside in order to avoid the gushing of water-like unstable quantum foam, and smiled with self-satisfaction at the stable event horizon.

Inside the dialing bunker, the Jaffa turned back, his task completed. He didn't have the time to express his surprise before the zat discharge collapsed him on the floor.

Back inside the ring, things happened quickly as well. Bar'shan froze, gasping in horror and stupefaction, as the stargate dropped down suddenly and disappeared into the ground. He managed to reach its emplacement and make out the circular top of the ring-shaped portal down the narrow slit. Realization striking him, he straightened up and bellowed a cry of fury, eyes flashing hatred and rage.

"NOOOOOOOO !"

A feminine chuckle answered him. He recognized the beautiful voice at once. Except that, in his memory, it was deformed and distorted by excruciating pain. Cold sweat ran down his spine and he looked wildly from side to side as the cornered rat he was.

"Hello, Bar'shan. I believe we still have unfinished business together." Somehow, the way she'd spoken with an apparent total lack of emotion was more terrifying than anything.

He gritted his teeth then barked a command. "Jaffa ! Attack !"

What happened next was not what he'd expected. He'd envisioned his warriors to die gloriously, exchanging fire with the defenders and making them pay a price in blood for their deaths. Maybe giving him enough time to find an exit, protected by his personal shield and his Kull-like wrist blaster.

He wasn't prepared for the hurricane of destruction that swept the place in a few seconds as every machine-gun turret and every Drakan soldier opened fire. In fact, the latter's precise, aimed shots were massively overshadowed by the sheer power of the formers, spitting streams of anti-personnel rounds into every warm moving shape. Sprays of blood splashed in crimson arcs and mangled limbs flew off in explosions of gore as heavy rounds shredded the Jaffas' bodies before the shocked eyes of their frozen leader. Screams were snuffed out of disintegrated heads, and the few bolts of staff fire either flew high into the sky or impacted harmlessly on the wall, blackening the tough refractory surface.

A nightmarish moment later, Bar'shan stood alone, covered in blood and bits of torn flesh which had not triggered his energy shield. Eyes gaping in disbelief, he slowly picked off a rope of entrails wrapped on his shoulder and threw it away, the wet plop it did falling on the blood-soaked soil the only sound in the returned silence.

He turned around slowly, hand extended, blaster ready. He wasn't defeated yet. If they intended to capture him, they would have to fight him first !

Something heavy landed down behind him and he spun around. The huge armored creature stoop down on its four appendages, then leapt forward and galloped toward him. Survival instinct took over and he fired away, sending blue bolts of plasma in quick succession toward the beast. They impacted the armor, blackening it ineffectually at first, then the volume of fire managed to pierce the cermet plate and penetrate the ghouloon's torso. Just in time. Bar'shan stepped aside to avoid the dying body plowing the ground where he'd just been standing and smirked victoriously.

He didn't see the second ghouloon which had silently ran up behind his back until it was too late. He only caught a glimpse of the towering ape-like creature in the corner of his vision, then a heavy fist impacted his cranium and everything went black.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 - Questions and answers**

The spider-like drone emerged from the shimmering event horizon and adapted itself instantly to the new conditions. Its semi-organic limbs pushed against the suddenly increased gravity and its chameleon skin blended first with the grayish rock of the stargate's pedestal, then with the browns and greens of the grassy soil. Its tiny brain had recognized several humanoid shapes, and conformant with its programming, the little creature sought to disappear from their view, scurrying away to find cover.

The Jaffas standing guard near the Chappai were alert, but lost several seconds wondering just what the multilegged insectoid was doing there, and whether they should try to shoot it. When they finally resolved to, the thing was too far and its shape too hard to discern. The closest staff blasts didn't come to within an arm's reach from it before the drone disappeared for good in the forest's undergrowth, leaving the warriors with a puzzled expression on their face before the wormhole dissolved into nothingness.

One of them went to the edge of the forest, beating the brushes with his staff and peering out in the shade. Not a trace of the strange animal. He turned back toward his comrades and shrugged. After all, it was a big universe out there, and the thing had seemed more afraid of the Jaffas than anything else.

Guard duty was dull and boring, but the warriors looked forward to the return of their god. He'd been away for an hour now, and they were taking bets on what their comrades could be doing. Little could they imagine that the two hundred Jaffas of Bar'shan's expeditionary force would be doing little more than fertilizing Abydos' soil, for the exception of one, who was currently weeping and bleeding profusely after being subjected to a horny ghouloon's not-so-tender mercies.

Still, when the Chappai activated again fifteen minutes later, they snapped to attention, weapons ready to fire on any unwanted visitor.

It didn't do them much good when the flurry of smart grenades flew out of the wormhole like angry hornets. Each of the forty-millimeter self-propelled rounds acquired a target, their collaborative logic ensuring that no two of them would settle for the same victim, and impacted it a fraction of a second later with predictable results. Each contained a small shaped charge that was able to pierce the strongest standard infantry armor on Earth, and against this, Jaffa mail was just as useful as cardboard. It was the last thing the unfortunate sentries ever learnt before rapid blood loss deprived their brain of consciousness, and they never saw the first ghouloon soldiers leap out of the wormhole.

"Gatehead secure, Merarch !"

Polignac nodded at the junior officer commanding the ghouloon century deployed around the stargate. More troops were emerging, two tetrarchies of Drakenses in battlesuits and a heavy weapons lochos, followed by a group of technical specialists trailing the wheeled transporters carrying their scientific equipment. This time, it wasn't a low profile reconnaissance, but a full-on smash and grab raid. Interrogation of the sole surviving Jaffa from Bar'shan's ill-fated little trip told the place wasn't garrisoned by more than a thousand warriors, with air support only consisting of Udajeets gliders. According to him, there wasn't any mothership in orbit, which was the only thing able to ruin the Drakas' day as far as they knew. Nevertheless, it was safer to check this fact first, although the likelihood of the prisoner lying was rather low.

The technicians immediately started to set up their instrumentation. Electromagnetic intercepts were useless as the mission on Bellenos had indicated, but good old optics were not. Even in orbit, a mothership was a big object, and the compact telescopes wouldn't miss it. It took only a few seconds for the low-slung transport to drop its stabilizing legs and the sensor turret to start its methodical scan of the sky above. A short minute later, the operator looked up and waved to the merarch standing at the edge of the clearing.

"Nothing detected, sir, both on optical and infrared bands. Of course there could be something currently out of sight, but for now, we're golden" he announced, loud enough for the Drakensis' enhanced hearing to pick up the words clearly.

Anton frowned slightly. The possibility of a Goaul'd ship orbiting the planet was his main concern, but the risk was acceptable. He doubted they would fire down indiscriminately... especially without their "god" being present to give orders. He shrugged and put his helmet back on, the integrated communication system putting him in relation with every man and ghouloon present.

"Units, move" he simply said.

Despite their size and brutish appearance, ghouloons could move gracefully and silently, and so the hundred of them advanced amongst the tall trees in a skirmish line, on both sides of the path leading from the stargate to Bar'shan's pyramid. All of them were veterans of the North American pacification sweeps, used to fight an enemy that was cunning, competent, ruthless and dangerous as only desperate men can be. Looking out for concealed traps, hidden sensors and camouflaged soldiers came to them as naturally as breathing, as well as killing silently and swiftly. Four mangled bodies, bearing a mark on their forehead, laid down on the dirt as a silent testimony.

* * *

The Jaffa compound was bustling as usual. The camp was a sprawling collection of tents and small, single story, log buildings serving as eating halls or weapon stores. Bar'shan had never bothered constructing more permanent accommodation for his troops - nor would they ask for decadent comforts unfit for true warriors, being used to a rugged life and simple pleasures. Like looting, raping and burning, which, to their taste, didn't come often enough.

Inside the camp, things were going as usual. Small groups of Jaffas practiced the art of hand-to-hand and staff fighting under the gaze, and comments, of their peers. Individuals meditated or maintained the equipment they were trusted with. Some lucky ones kept to the privacy of their tent, although the cries and moans escaping through the leather and cloth flaps gave a clear indication they were not alone.

Unknown to them, the Chappai activated again, and a long, dark shape streaked out of the shimmering energy field. The missile climbed over the forest and arced towards the camp, the multispectral sensor in its nose sending back a real-time video stream to the Draka operator sitting comfortably in Dante Base's Operation Center. The modified tactical weapon swept down, and its thermobaric warhead activated fifty meters over the compound's center, crushing and incinerating men and buildings. Around the blasted zone, the shocked and disoriented survivors didn't have much respite. More missiles rained down, immolating most of them in the following twenty seconds.

The handful of live, wounded and dazed Jaffas remaining after the bombardment did not oppose any meaningful resistance when ghouloons hauled them off to the temporary processing point, where they were stripped off their armor and clothing, sedated and tied up in sealed biocontainment gurneys. Thirty minutes after the assault, the captives were transferred to Dante Base, along with the containers holding every live symbiote found on otherwise dead or dying Jaffas.

Meanwhile, Drakensis assault teams had stormed the pyramid, guided by a very determined decurion Rayner. The dozen guards didn't offer more than token resistance, falling to precisely aimed zat blasts or overpowered in hand to hand combat. Those joined their comrades on the way to Luna.

"Blast open every locked door and check every room. I want this building stripped down to the bones !"

Acknowledgements came back from team leaders. Flanked by Rayner and Maxwell, Anton strode through the palace's corridors, taking in the alien architecture, marred here and there by dents and scorch marks, nodding to the soldiers he encountered on his way. Most were carrying boxes and bags filled with the day's loot, ranging from furniture and jewelry to unidentifiable objects that may be incredibly advanced technology or the Goaul'ds equivalent of toilet paper. Telling what was what would fall to the scientists eagerly waiting on the other side.

The trio paused in the gallery leading to Bar'shan's private apartments. The perverted paintings were still there, hanging on the walls for all to see. Anton watched each scene with a mix of fascination and repulsion. He could sense Rayner's uneasiness and put his hand on her shoulder, pressing gently in a wordless gesture of support. He felt her straighten slightly, then she turned away from the wall, locked her blue gaze on him and spoke in a voice devoid of warmth.

"I want five minutes alone with Bar'shan"

Anton winced minutely. Leaving the Domination's most precious intelligence asset in the same room with an angry red haired decurion didn't sound like a very good idea. On the other hand, he could hardly deny his friend a measure of retribution.

"I don't need to remind you that he's of more use alive than dead" he observed neutrally.

"Oh, I'll leave him alive all right." Her cold smile did nothing to support her statement.

"We don't even know if the symbiote feels pain" the male Draka objected. "Leave it to the specialists. With live subjects to work on, they'll find a way to make him talk… or make him a very miserable headsnake !"

Rayner snorted. "Being the voice of reason, aren't you ?" she poked his armored chest.

"I wouldn't dare" he replied, rolling his eyes before walking away. She followed his steps, a faint smile lifting the corner of her lips.

Behind them, Maxwell scratched his head, still gazing at a vivid depiction of a scene involving several Jaffas and a single girl. He shrugged and unsheathed his dagger, using the razor-sharp blade to swiftly cut the painting out of its gilded frame, before rolling the canvas and leaving after the two officers, rejoining them in the large atrium.

"Max, what is _this_ ?" the merarch asked pointedly, designating the bundle under the soldier's arm.

The man gave an innocent look.

"Oh, this ? Just a little souvenir !"

Seeing the frown on his superior's face, he added blankly, "Pillage's a time-honored tradition in the Citizen Force, sir !"

The frown gave way to a chuckle.

"Just don't take anything important, will you ?"

* * *

Two hours later, Bar'shan's pyramid stood empty, its rooms and chambers bare and stripped of every movable feature. The prisoners kept in the dungeon had been collected, subjected to a quick medical check, and sent away to Dante Base for processing. Given their wretched state, they would require a lot of care before they were fit for interrogation, and then two third of them appeared to have gone mad during their incarceration.

Polignac was the last to leave, and stepped through the gate without a backward glance, the event horizon dissolving after his passage.

The stargate didn't remain quiet for long, however. An incoming wormhole materialized again barely two minutes after the Drakas were gone, and a final missile darted out, following the same trajectory as his predecessors. Unlike them, though, it climbed directly above the pyramid, then its engine cut out and a small parachute deployed, slowing its fall. Back at the clearing, the gate shut down a last time, and then a small sun blossomed above Bar'shan's domain. The energium-potassium warhead detonated with the force of a ten megaton hydrogen bomb, vaporizing every trace of the Draka's incursion and blowing the stargate itself clear out of its pedestal. The virtually indestructible ring crashed down on the ground several hundred meters away, burying itself in the charred soil, unharmed, yet unusable.

One week later, a Hatak would translate from hyperspace over the empty planet, and a stupefied Camulus would only be able to conjecture what fate had befallen his underling.

**Deep underground, Biocontrol Division Lunar Facility 5**

**Five days after Bar'shan's attack**

At the end of the 20th century, the Domination's bioweapon development had reached unprecedented levels of sophistication and effectiveness, but the sheer lethality and viciousness of some end products posed an unacceptable risk. Nobody expected a super-virus to escape a research lab on its own, such were the measures taken against that occurrence, but sabotage, or simply war damage, could mean a breach of containment. With catastrophic consequences. The Fenris device was a bluff, designed to work as a last-resort negotiating card in the face of an Alliance victory, but the truth was it didn't exist. At least not under the advertised form. The true doomsday weapons of the Domination were the arsenal of micro-organisms developed in utmost secrecy, like the Stone Dogs virus, although they were expressly designed to devastate entire biospheres with a speed and lethality that would make any countermeasure extremely hard to devise in time.

Thus the powers-that-be had wisely decided to move the aforementioned arsenal-in-being where its accidental release couldn't hurt, that is, Luna. The airless, irradiated surface of the moon was a very inhospitable environment, even for hardy micro-organisms, and detonating a large nuke on top of a potential contamination would have less unpleasant aftereffects. Mercury had been considered, with its extremely high day surface temperatures, but it was just too far to be practical.

Hence Facility 5, unnamed and nondescript, its existence a secret even to the governor of Luna herself. On the surface, no construction told of its existence. Apart from a camouflaged and buried emergency access, the only way in or out was a tunnel leading to a small astronomical observation station twenty kilometers away and behind another crater.

Alliance intelligence had missed the facility, not so unsurprisingly as it was, until the War, nothing else but a glorified storage place with little human activity to pick up. After the War, it had laid dormant, until its content were once again called upon after the Alien Incursion. It had been expanded into a full-fledged, if smallish, research and testing facility, with provisions for a number of test subjects. Ten sealed experimentation chambers had been readied, and now, they were occupied by half the number of Jaffa prisoners, with the rest set aside for "witness subjects". That is, unfortunate humans used to provide a baseline of the bioweapons' lethality.

The Draka scientists used to joke about those being "talking monkeys". And like monkeys, they were expendable. If not as cute and furry.

Inside the first five chambers, things were dull and boring for the subjects. Laying on a bed, with reinforced straps preventing one from moving anything else but their head and fingers (or toes), without any external stimulation other than the occasional noises of the machinery attached to the various probes and IVs snaking into their body, for what had been days now, could drive anyone mad. And the Jaffas were mad at the people who'd slaughtered their comrades, captured their god and were not subjecting them to such humiliating treatment. In their ignorance of science and technology, they didn't know what exactly they were subject to, but they weren't stupid either and had reached the conclusion that whatever was going on, wasn't designed with their well-being in mind.

Not that they could do anything about it. So they'd stopped raging impotently at their restraints, and instead retreated into deep meditation, which made for an even more boring display.

A shrill sound interrupted the calm of the facility's central monitoring room. The two white-coated technicians inside raised their head from the books they were reading. Everything was being recorded automatically anyway. They only had to intervene if something abnormal happened, and while entertaining at first, watching people die in gruesome ways had grown stale.

The cause of the alarm was quickly assessed. The bioreadings for subject H16 were flat. A glance to the visual feed confirmed the fact. H16 had finally stopped thrashing in the restraints, and his chest didn't move any more. At least what passed for a chest after Strain 5-67D had finished liquefying its contents.

"Another one bites the dust" the first Draka commented in a bored tone.

"Well, I'm glad I don't have to clean up the mess" his colleague replied, sending a message to the maintenance team and initiating the sterilization procedure.

Later, he watched for a few minutes as four suited men entered the chamber, now flooded in cyanide gas, and removed the corpse, a task made difficult by the fact that it had become more liquid than solid. The radio link relayed the curses and complaints faithfully.

"Why do we bother picking up this waste ? It'd be easier just hosing it down the drain !"

"Y'know the eggheads want to dissect everyone of 'em"

"Yeah, well they'll need straws for this one !"

Snickers answered the last quip, and the two monitoring technicians allowed themselves a smile before returning to their book.

**The Cupola, Nova Virconium Surface Level, Luna**

**October 24****th****, 2010**

It was the end of the day at Luna's largest city, and as usual, weary citizens flocked to the clear dome of the Cupola to have a drink, relax, chat, trade stories, watch the performances or find a partner for the "night" . Arguably one of the Domination's most famous spots, the fine establishment had been utterly demolished during the war, by virtue of its exposed situation, and rebuild later, bigger and shinier. The dome's center was occupied by the circular raised scene, and patrons sat all around, entertained by the uninterrupted succession of performers. And in case the dancers, singers, musicians or strippers weren't enough, they could simply look outside the curved transparent wall and gaze at the city's glittering surface installations, or try to spot the orbiting stations and ships overhead.

To add to the place's attractiveness, its well-connected owner had secured a steady supply of real foodstuff from the Domination's newest conquest. The meals were insanely expensive, but every citizen was more than ready to pay for genuine meat to go with the extensive selection of alcoholic beverages available. At any rate, there weren't many ways to spend one's money on Luna.

Stuart Gates glanced around, swirling his glass slowly. Authentic American whisky wasn't cheap, and he intended to make it last. The icy smooth liquid was a taste of… things before. Of the country that disappeared, vanquished by the Domination's insatiable hunger. His mind was a little troubled and alcohol wasn't the sole culprit. He'd felt increasingly at home in the Domination, that wasn't the problem. He'd made friends, he had a gorgeous "assistant", and to be honest the Citizen way of life had done him a great lot of good physically. He'd never believed he'd be so fit and it sure felt great. Especially when Alyanna cooed before his newly found athletic body.

Not everyone had fit so easily. Ray Patricks for instance. The older man still nursed a hefty amount of barely disguised hate for the Drakas, although he'd come to a fatalistic attitude regarding his position. At the very least, he'd comforted himself with the thought that, somewhere, freedom and democracy were still alive. That the flame still burnt inside the New America. That, one day, it would perhaps cleanse the universe from the Draka taint.

It wasn't something they talked about. It was a mutual unspoken agreement that they'd avoid the more, let's say, conflictual subjects. Whenever they met for a drink, they never went further than moody remembrances of old life, mixed in with the usual benign chit-chat related to work (at least the parts that weren't classified, which wasn't much) and random events.

Tonight they'd have a new conversation subject, and Stuart was prepared to bet his life that Patricks wouldn't exhibit the exuberant outlook that Draka citizens manifested around the place in reaction to the same news. Even Stuart's unimpressive hearing couldn't miss the excited conversations going on and the downright scary eagerness painted on the patrons' faces. Indeed, the magnitude of the news was enough that the servus dancers lasciviously shedding their (already skimpy) clothes on stage were almost ignored.

Stuart spotted his friend's white-crowned hair and waved at him. The older man caught sight of him, nodded, and walked towards his table without sparing a glance to the sitting Drakas or the waiting serfs making way for him. He wasn't fast enough to reach the table before one of the attendants, a young Adonis clad in the short tunic that was the uniform of the house, materialized seemingly out of nowhere and pulled the plush chair for him with an eager smile. Gates hardly repressed a laugh at Patrick's half-scowl.

"I told you, you'll never catch them unaware !"

The other man shook his head in irritation. "One day… !" he trailed, like every time before. It was a little game of them. It was a way for him to express his alienness to Draka custom in a harmless fashion, and Stuart humored him. He also suspected that the servants knew it, and made a good-natured point of frustrating the ex-Alliance physicist. The Cupola didn't boast of unbeatable attention to service for nothing.

He nodded to the waiting serf.

"Same as usual".

"Master." The young man bowed, backed the prescribed three steps, then turned around and glided with the effortless elegance of a low-gee denizen towards the main bar.

A few seconds passed in silence. Patricks raised an eyebrow and spoke.

"Did your… personal assistant finally dump you ?"

Gates gave a brief laugh. "No, she's still bearing with me," he went on, to explain Alyanna's conspicuous absence, "She's on Terra for a week, her brother's marrying"

"Oh ? Well, that's good for him" Patricks paused and added "He's a lucky serf"

The younger man caught the unsaid meaning.

"You know, it's fairly rare that a serf's not allowed to marry and have a family"

A snort answered him. "Yeah, they're really not that bad off, aren't they ?" Seeing the shadow of disappointment passing over Stuart's face, he waved his hand apologetically. "Sorry, I guess I'm just a bit cranky"

Gates looked aside and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I can't blame you, what with today's news"

At this moment, the waiter came back and gracefully deposited a frothing beer mug in front of the white-haired man.

"Thank you"

"At your service, Masters. Is there anything else you desire ?" the serf added with a heavy hint of lasciviousness.

The physicist's face turned red and the computer specialist coughed behind his hand. "Err, no, thank you, that will be all" he managed to let out with a straight face. The young serf smiled even wider, manifestly amused by the two softies' embarrassment. No doubt he'd tell everything to his colleagues and they'd all get a good laugh at the two queer citizens' expense.

"I'll never be used to Draka mores" Ray Patricks observed when the waiter was gone, still red-faced. "Those New Race freaks especially, it doesn't make a damn difference to them !"

Stuart gates nodded in approval. Alyanna was fine, sure. But she was female. Servus males were certainly handsome, he could admit that, but he just couldn't consider "it". The few times he'd participated in, hem, parties with Draka coworkers, he'd been more than a little uneasy with the close proximity of other naked men. They'd been tactful and hadn't made any gesture he could have been uncomfortable with, but still. Every time, he'd felt a little shameful afterwards, the inescapable legacy of American education with its rigidly moral values.

The difference couldn't be made clearer when he looked around at the other tables and booths. Native Drakas of both sexes could be seen with young serfs of indiscriminate gender on their laps, shamelessly kissing and fondling them without a trace of shame.

Gates sighed. "Anyway. What do you make of the Archon's speech ?"

The frown came back to Patricks' brow. "Well, it does explain some of the stuff we've been doing in the labs…"

"Can you believe it, a whole new planet, light-years away ? Some of my colleagues are already talking of moving there"

"How not surprising" Patricks replied in a tone dripping with irony. "Another world to put under the Yoke, they're all wriggling in glee"

"Yeah, well there's also the issue of those Goaul'ds…"

"Ha ! Just look at them. You'd think they'd be afraid for once. Instead it seems like they're spoiling for a fight"

Stuart cocked his head briefly. "They're a warrior culture, it's in their blood… quite literally in the Drakenses' case. They're seeing it as a worthy challenge"

Patricks leant towards the other man and spoke in a low voice. "You know, I'd almost hoped those aliens would come here and kick the Snakes' ass" he saw the programmer's mouth and eyes open wide and continued before he could be interrupted "but it seems those Goaul'ds are even worse," he straightened back and continued in a normal voice "ain't the Universe a bitch ?" he ended with a theatrical spread of his arms.

The younger man wet his lips and made a small pout. "Yeah, I guess so". He became more serious. It was his turn to lean conspirationnally. "There's something else" he caught Ray's suddenly interested gaze. "It wasn't mentioned in the Archon's speech, and it's just speculation I picked up with my colleagues…"

"What is it ?"

The young man inhaled, then dropped the bomb. "The New America disappeared."

"What ???"

"A colleague of mine's married to a decurion in the Space Force, and according to him their last routine check didn't pick up the ship"

"How...?" Patricks' voice trailed with disbelief.

"They don't know. It wasn't where it should be, and space watch wouldn't have missed an engine burn."

That went without saying. When the huge colony ship had left the solar system, the energetic flare of it's antimatter drive had burned as bright as the sun, easily visible during Earth's day, like a fiery comet taking away the hopes of the Alliance's abandoned citizens.

Both men sat silently for a long moment, digesting the news. At last Patricks spoke, in a carefully controlled voice. "It can't believe it was destroyed ! This ship packed enough mirror-matter to make a small star !"

"I know, it just boggles the mind. If it's true, and I expect so since anyone with access to a telescope can check it, it surely means alien intervention"

"Captured by those Goaul'ds you mean ?"

"That would be my bet"

The elderly scientist dropped back in the chair, a dejected look on his face, looking absently outside the dome. Finally, he locked eyes with Gates.

"Hell. The bloody Draka as humanity's last hope." he spat angrily.

"No shit" came the quiet answer.

**ADSF **_**New America**_**, Deep space**

**2 days earlier**

Right on time, the chime rang through the ship, or, more accurately, its pressurized command section and the intercom network, in case a crewman doing an EVA or simply wandering through the vast expanses of the colony ship in a pressure suit hadn't kept track of time. Which wasn't so uncommon. Boredom associated with the soul-swallowing vastness of interstellar space could lead one's mind to become absorbed enough and ignore such things as crew rotation.

Lieutenant O'Hare sighed. Another boring four hour shift done. Around the command couch, the various displays were still displaying the same informations. Everything was normal. Just four less hours in the long journey.

"Hey Rosie" the familiar voice called from the hatch "didn't catch you asleep on duty I hope ?"

"Chimp" the blonde lieutenant replied in a carefully bored voice "You're late as usual"

"Oh come on, only one minute ! It's not like you have a date, do you ?" came the false-pained answer.

The fair-skinned blonde rolled her eyes, unseen by her colleague, Lt Charles "Chimp" McBride. So nicknamed because of his hairy features, prominent brows and ape-level social behavior, especially when females were included.

_A date, ha ! If you knew._

"Well, the ship is yours" she stated matter-of-factly, rising from the reclined seat and stretching her arms. A movement that pulled the tank top she wore under her opened jacket taut against her chest, and she saw her colleague's eyes dart down. She immediately lowered her arms , grunted in annoyance and locked eyes with Chimp.

"Everything's running normally, so if you happen to break something it's your fault".

She grabbed her empty coffee mug and left the room without a further glance.

Lt McBride smirked and made himself at ease on the warmed leather of the reclining seat. A circular eye circuit through the surrounding displays confirmed his colleague's report. Auxiliary fusion reactor 2 was running like a clockwork, easily outputting the relatively low energy needed during cruise. Reactor 1 was on hot stand-by in case its assistance was needed, and the ship's main power source, its matter annihilator core, was cold and silent, its astronomical output superfluous to a ship that was currently merely coasting through space with most systems on stand-by.

The spacer sighed, bored already. It was only his first year of awake duty, as a member of the third crew. Luckily, the ships databanks were filled with every form of electronic and digitized entertainment. He found his favorite selection of music, and the command deck became flooded with eighties era neo-metal country.

O'Hare made her way through the curved main corridor to the galley, passing the crew quarters. Thankfully they had artificial gravity, thanks to the command section's rotation, and individual quarters. She couldn't bear to imagine what five years in the spartan setting of a normal warship could feel like. She'd most likely go insane. Murderously insane. At least the frozen passengers didn't have to deal with that.

She waved to the two other crew members already there and pulled a ration pack from a ready rack. Despite their appellation, the packs were actually good and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. So far, she still had to try a good quarter of the available selection.

A half hour later, she dumped the empty containers in the trash box and bade her colleagues goodbye. SHe didn't particularly feel like staying and playing tabletop wars. She though the little painted plastic figurines looked positively dorky with their ridiculously over-the-top depictions of mutated monstrous insectoids and bombastic power-armored soldiers. And she couldn't picture herself desperate enough to wield a pair of dices and a plastic ruler and pretend it was a brutal futuristic battle. Yet the boys seemed to enjoy it so much that they didn't even try to make passes on her. She was the only woman in the crew for Christ's sake ! Sure, she didn't delude herself into thinking she was beautiful, or even cute, with her plain features and compact stature, but still… well, maybe in two years it would be different.

She shook her head as the airtight door to her quarters slid open, and she entered her room. It wasn't large, but had ample enough room to stand and do some exercise, a large wall display and a real bed squeezed between the row of shelves and clothes racks.

Contrary to what Chimp thought, she did have a date, kinda. She was the current crew's computer specialist after all, which meant she had the codes and authorizations to access the contents of the civilian datacores, and could hack her way around the protections guarding the hot stuff. Including the wealth of, well, censored media from the Domination. The kind of stuff that used to be bootlegged into the Alliance before the war. Every society had its share of perverted minds, and the Snakes sure knew how to pander to them.

She checked that her hatch was locked, then activated a set of commands on her perscomp. The big high resolution display came to life as she shed off her clothes. A martial music burst out of the loudspeakers, followed by the logo of the Alexandria Movie Works, then the movie's name, superimposed on the frozen picture of a bound and gagged young female lying on a rug, with the ominous shadow of a whip projected on her pale skin. It read, in fiery red letters, _Feisty Slaves III_.

In the following hours, Rosie shamelessly indulged to the submissive fantasies she'd always kept hidden under the uptight facade of an Alliance naval officer.

Elsewhere on the ship, Sr Captain Galloway floated in the cold empty spaces of the passenger hold. His white suited form glided silently between the walls of morgue-like storage tubes, the ranks of metallic panels seemingly endless in the darkness, only illuminated by the widely spaced glow strips serving more as visual marks than true lighting, and Galloway's helmet floodlights.

The cryostorage hold wasn't pressurized, and was kept at a constant temperature barely warmer than the absolute zero. The cryovitrification process stolen from the Drakas allowed indefinite conservation of human bodies. In theory, a ship could be sent to another galaxy with the crew still viable at the end of the multi-millennia long journey, as long as they were protected from hard radiation. And, naturally, provided the complex machinery needed to revive them was still operational. That wasn't a concern for the paltry forty years of the Centauri crossing, and the ship's protective magnetic field was keeping harmful radiation away.

Galloway reached his destination and stopped himself by grabbing a handrail next to one of the square metal panels. This holding capsule was only distinguished from the hundred thousand others by its serial number. J-2349. A meaningless number except for Christopher Galloway, the third commander of the _New America_. He reached to the small keyboard on his left arm and pressed a button. His helmet display came to life and a picture appeared before his eyes. He looked at it longingly. The freckled-face of his wife, Laura Galloway, was smiling at him under the straw hat she loved to wear during the summer, back when they were a newly-wed couple in sunny Florida.

It was strange. Had he not been selected to command the third active crew, he would have woken up forty years later, but to his conscious mind no time would have passed at all. The last kiss he'd exchanged with Laura would have seemed like yesterday. They had been processed at the same time, their bodies put into a deep coma, cooled and filled with complex chemical compounds and nano-agents as part of the cutting edge procedure that transformed living tissue into stable, glass-like vitrified matter.

His mind wandered back in time, remembering life before the war.

In the command deck, Lt McBride's musical program was suddenly interrupted by a strident modulated sound. He nearly jumped in the seat and blurted out the coffee he'd just been about to swallow, then did a double take. This was the life alarm, meaning something had happened to a crewman. Automated routines displayed the relevant data on the screens. Biotelemetry and location for every member of the active crew. All were green and normal, if a little hectic in Lt O'Hare's case. Then he caught the red cartouche displaying Galloway's biosigns. Except there weren't any. Just a blinking red "NO DATA". That was extremely perplexing. An equipment failure was extremely unlikely… he checked the locator map. The crew's position was displayed on the three-dimensional ship schematics. All but Galloway's. He'd been last tracked in the cryostorage hold. This didn't puzzle McBride, he knew the captain liked to wander there in his free time, even he personally found his behavior hopelessly sappy.

Yet he had been there, and next he wasn't anymore. Unless the redundant tracking equipment had suddenly given up the ghost. Not bloody likely. Something had happened to the Captain and probably something bad. A suit malfunction in the hold's cold vacuum would kill him fast… but it still wouldn't make him magically disappear from the internal sensors ! Those were functioning normally according to the damage control board.

He reached for the all-ship call button and pressed it decisively.

"All hands, this is the command deck, we have a potential casualty in the cryostorage compartment. Prepare for medical emergency and damage assessment. I need two people suited in the connecting hatch pronto !"

He didn't need to say more, his colleagues were trained professionals and would know what to do. He could follow them on internal sensors, rushing through the crew habitat and the passageways leading to the central hub, where the main utility hatch was located.

In the meantime, he activated a maintenance remote from the damage control station closest to the "accident" and sent the robotic craft scurrying on its magnetized tentacle-like legs/manipulators.

The efficient little machine reached J-2349 twenty seconds later.

What it found utterly stupefied McBride.

Empty space. It was like Galloway had never been there.

McBride could find but one thing to say in a stunned voice.

"What the hell...?"

"What the hell…?" were exactly the words Galloway uttered, after the brief flash of light ended and he found himself deposited in a very different place. For starters, there was gravity, and he found himself forced to make a conscious effort to keep standing under the suddenly increased weight of his spacesuit. His life-support system beeped happily and told him there was a breathable atmosphere outside.

He pivoted on his feet with deliberate slowness. The room he was in looked nothing like a spaceship. At least, like an Earth-built ship. For all he knew, he could be on a planet. A flurry of thoughts and hypothesis bubbled in his mind. Unless he was dreaming, and he doubted that, he'd been just teleported out of the _New America_. He'd watched his share of science-fiction movies, but it happening for real was another matter.

_I'll be damned. I'm going to make first contact with ET !_

Another thought came instantly. _I hope they're friendly_._ I didn't escape Draka rule to get something sharp plugged in my butt !_

He considered and then discarded the possibility of it being a Draka trick. The place didn't look Draka-ish to begin with. Smooth featureless walls of some kind of grey metal, without a single inscription. There was apparently a door set in one of the bulkheads. He walked closer and didn't feel too surprised when the twin panes slid apart, allowing him passage into the corridor outside.

_What now ?_

"You can safely remove your helmet."

The disembodied voice almost made him jump in place. His eyes darted around in instinctual reaction to try and find the message's origin. He couldn't see anything looking like speakers on the gently curving walls.

"Who are you ?" he asked the corridor in return.

"I would rather answer your questions face to face, Captain Galloway"

The man's eyes grew wide. How did his mysterious interlocutor know his name ? Then he shook his head. Given the technology already demonstrated, there was a variety of ways. Starting with simply reading the nameplate on his suit.

"This way" the curt instruction came with a subtle pulsing of the ambient light, leading away from the place he was standing on. Shrugging, the Alliance officer unfastened his helmet and began to walk in the indicated direction.

It didn't take him long to reach is destination. At the end of the passageway, another set of doors opened and he stepped into a large chamber. The first thing he remarked gave him a shock. In front of him was a large viewscreen of sorts. Coming closer, he saw that it was more like an observation window, looking into the depths of space. And clearly visible in the distance was the familiar cylinder-shaped _New America_. Galloway touched the transparent material with a gloved hand, feeling the need to somehow confirm what his eyes told him with a tactile check. He gazed at the mighty ship for a moment before the now familiar voice interrupted him.

"An impressive achievement for such a primitive species as yours"

The captain turned away and did a double take. Standing behind a console was the spitting image of a pulp magazine alien, short and humanoid with a grey skin, big head and flat emotionless face. The diminutive creature blinked once then opened its tiny mouth again.

"I am Loki of the Asgard, and I've brought you here for a purpose. Now listen and don't interrupt me. Time is not to be wasted"

_Charming personality_, Galloway thought. What the grey alien told him afterwards made him forget about the rest, however.

_**Fifteen minutes later**_

"Okaaaay, let me rephrase all this to check if I understood correctly" the throughly mind-boggled human officer spoke for the first time after Loki's dry and concise exposition. The little alien merely looked at him. Galloway ignored the nagging impression that Loki's inexpressive face still conveyed the meaning that his human interlocutor was barely removed from tree-dwelling monkeys.

"You're the representative of a highly advanced alien species" _that much was obvious _"yet for all your sophistication a… race, for lack of a better word, of Von Neumann-like machines is kicking your little grey butts" _that's for the "primitive" comment_ "all around your home galaxy, and somehow we can't ignore it because whenever they're finished with you guys, the Milky Way's next on the list." He paused, then went on as the small humanoid didn't blink. "You built more and better warships but every time those Replicators have managed to copy and improve on them despite you advocating more unconventional means, but you got ignored by your Supreme Council." _seems like your politicians have a lot in common with ours, then. _"Your Supreme Commander, that Thor fellow, got himself ambushed and eaten by the Reps along with the better part of your remaining fleet and now your leadership's grown desperate enough to give you carte blanche" He could see that his blunt synthesis had struck a chord, for the big black eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and went on.

"Your Commander's sacrifice wasn't totally worthless, for you were able to determine the origins of the Reps, and that's where I, the barely evolved monkey, come in" _doesn't hurt to_ _rub it in, does it ?_ "You want me to access the knowledge of this ancient and extinct species in order to find a way to deal with the galaxy-devouring machines decisively."

Loki gave a very slight nod of agreement.

"So the question is, what do _we_ get in return ?" the human asked, hands on his hips and drawing himself straighter over the diminutive alien.

"The Replicators are a mortal threat…"

"..for all the galaxy, yes, I got that" Galloway interrupted. "But if I manage to help you defeat them, it seems to me that returning my own people the favor would be normal, wouldn't it ?"

Loki kept silent for a moment. This kind of annoying haggling was exactly what he'd expected. Couldn't those humans think logically and see the greater picture ? He sighed inwardly. Destroying the human's Draka enemy, while easily in his reach, was certainly out of the question. He hadn't carefully (and discreetly) nurtured their technological development for the better part of a century in order to render it all moot, just when his long-planned effort was finally starting to give fruit in the form of a united Earth that had the numbers, skill and sheer ruthlessness to go after the Goaul'd and do what the Asgard had never managed, or resolved, to. Eliminate the parasitic species once and for all. The other experiments were a disappointment. None of the known other galactic species, humanoid or not, had either reached technological superiority, or done it without somewhat becoming too morally weak or incompetent to do what was necessary.

Not that the old Four Races had done better, he had to admit. The mighty and benevolent Ancients. Ha. A bunch of blundering fools who'd left untold numbers of lethal traps in their careless experimentations, and never bothered to clean after themselves, instead metaphorically washing their collective hands and ascending, then conveniently forgetting about the messes they'd left behind. The Nox. Nice fellows, but too deluded with their "peace at all costs" mindset to be remotely useful to the galactic community. The Furlings… better not say anything about them. Such an end as theirs was a shame. The fact that it had taken an (unprecedented, and never renewed) collective effort by the other Races to deal with the consequences of their foolish endeavor was better left in a dark corner of everyone's memory.

As for his own species, well, they hadn't done too badly, and certainly tried to make things better, but in the end, they could only do so much. Maintaining the illusion of Ra's presence for millennia, and therefore allowing countless worlds to exist free of Goaul'd oppression, was a worthwhile achievement, but it couldn't last forever. No, the Tau'ri gambit had been his best bet, forcing the technological development of the Humans' homeworld at a rate that should have been impossible otherwise, yet doing it in a way that guaranteed the strong, expansionist and militaristic mindset necessary to take on the Goaul'ds. The Drakas had eventually proven themselves the most ruthless. Still, the Alliance remnant could be useful again. It certainly didn't hurt to have this option kept open.

Loki finally answered the human.

"When the Replicator threat is vanquished, then I will give your people what they need to fight back against your enemy."

**Ten minutes later, another part of the Milky Way**

Galloway looked in wonder at the blue-white planet that looked so much like Earth, yet was thousands of light-years away from the Solar System. Through the Asgard ship's viewport, it seemed proverbially close enough to touch.

"It is time. You know what to do" Loki's voice stated behind him.

"Yeah, I'm not that stupid, you only explained it twice using two-syllable words" was the human's slightly exasperated reply. "By the way, how do I get down there ?"

The answer was a flash of white brilliance similar to the one he'd already experienced once, and an instant later he found himself on the planet's surface.

"Okay, I should have known that" he muttered out loud.

At least he didn't have to worry about orientation. The ruins were right in front of him, seemingly right out of an archeology book. He breathed firmly in and headed towards the strangely out-of-place device adorning the antique stone wall. Its dark smooth and slightly organic appearance was a bit unsettling, reminding him of some horror movies he'd watched before. Of course, Loki had told him it was perfectly safe.

He paused a couple of paces away from the protrusion, summoning his courage, then stepped forward, placing his face an inch away from the alien mechanism, his mind blank.

Despite knowing what would happen, he couldn't help flinching when the quasi-organic device extended around his head and gripped him. He forced his eyes open, and the next seconds passed in an otherworldly fast kaleidoscope of colors and lights.

At last the device retracted, freeing his head.

A wave of dizziness washed over Galloway, and the human officer fell unconscious.

He woke up five minutes later, groaning with a splitting headache, and back in the orbiting spaceship. The bright overhead light made him blink a few times, and his eyes resolved the Asgard's standing over and staring at him impassively.

"Auurgh. You told me it was harmless" Galloway grunted, pushing himself in a sitting position that put his head level with the small humanoid's featureless crotch, making him look away in discomfort.

"This is normal. Your brain isn't ideally adapted to the highly advanced knowledge currently residing in your head"

The human winced again. Trust the grey bastard to make the statement disparaging. He stood up, somewhat more comfortable towering over the Asgard scientist.

"Well, apart from feeling like my head's going to explode, I don't feel any different or smarter"

"The necessary knowledge should come naturally once you're confronted with the problem" Loki stated matter-of-factly, turning away. Standing once more behind his console, he manipulated the controls without a word, and a portion of the floor suddenly extruded into a pedestal between him and Galloway. Before the latter could say a word, a brilliant confined light flashed on the flat surface, and he gasped in shock. Before his eyes stood the metallic spider he knew to be a Replicator. Almost immediately, the ravenous little machine leapt on him… and rebounded on an invisible forcefield.

The Alliance captain sighed in relief, then, shock still painted on his features, addressed the watching Asgard.

"Are you crazy ? You told them how dangerous those things were and you've got one on your ship ?"

His interlocutor didn't betray any feeling, despite his reply.

"The force-field can only contain it for a certain time before it adapts. Then it will escape, and we'll die".

"Oh, great, just great. What a perfect way to motivate me !" Galloway shot back with a sarcastic voice.

Then he forced himself to stare at the metallic insectoid bashing away at its immaterial prison's walls, exuding an aura of malignancy despite lacking features to express itself.

And he felt it, the knowledge stirring in the depths of his brain, like a deep spring forcing its way through earth and rock to reach the surface. He closed his eyes and focused on it, his conscious mind metaphorically digging and pulling at the tenuous thread, as if uprooting a subterranean plant.

I gave way suddenly, and he felt the epiphany of immensely powerful understanding filling his mind with the mastery of the Universe's rules far beyond what Earth scientists had ever discovered or believed possible. And nestled among the mountain of information was everything he needed to know about the Replicators, how they had begun as yet another routine experiment of a civilization ancient beyond measure, before it was eventually discarded like a used toy. A toy that evolved on its own into something that threatened to consume everything living or not, like a cosmic scale cancer.

He knew what to do, and strode with deliberate resolve to the nearest computer console. Loki observed the purposeful human with the closest thing to hopeful expectation an Asgard face was able to express.

Galloway put his had on the smooth surface, ignoring the pebble-like Asgard controls, and closed his eyes. His enhanced nervous system came into direct contact with the ship's mighty computer, flooding it with instructions and schematics. The transmission only took a few seconds, after which the skinsuited man stepped back and exhaled in relief.

Loki didn't have to question him. In a process similar to how the Replicator had been created seemingly out of thin air, an elongated, rifle-like device flashed into existence before Galloway, who grabbed it immediately and aimed at the thrashing metal bug.

Smirking, he signaled for Loki to drop the forcefield.

"Time for some long-needed pest-control."

As soon as the protective barrier was lowered, the lone Replicator leapt again, recognizing its chance to infect, assimilate and multiply as it was designed to do. It did not feel elation or pleasure at doing it. It was merely following its programming. Just as it didn't feel anything like pain, anger or disappointment when it flew into the beam of precisely tailored energy shot by Galloway's device, and dissolved in a shower of inert metal particles.

Loki stared at his human aide.

"It works"

Still smirking victoriously, the officer returned the Asgard's gaze.

"Of course it does. Those Ancients created Replicator technology. Finding how to disable it was easy" he stated somewhat smugly, content to be the one flaunting a superior intellect now. "I also reconfigured this ship's systems to emit an omnidirectional disabling wave, and programmed the computer to use skipping frequencies so any Replicator surviving a first shot won't be able to adapt to a follow-up."

Loki blinked, clearly impressed, and the human went on. "One ship suitably modified like this one should be able to clear an entire star system of bugs all by itself. Thanks to the wave's subspace component, it will even work on Replicator ships running in hyperspace."

"Amazing. I wasn't wrong to rely on you" the Asgard replied with something suspiciously like admiration. He continued in a more matter-of-fact tone. "However, we need to make haste. What I did not tell you was that the Asgard home system was under siege by the Replicator fleet. I hope that it hasn't fallen yet"

"Then it's the perfect opportunity to get rid of them once and for all"

"Indeed, Christopher Galloway"

The Alliance officer didn't miss the Asgard's use of his proper name. _I guess I'm not a dumb chimpanzee any more_,_ eh ?_

Despite his recent achievement, Galloway stood stunned by the Asgard ship's display of speed, as they crossed the void between galaxies in a matter of seconds. The swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace ended as they emerged back into real space and in view of the beleaguered Asgard home-world.

"My God" He stared open-mouthed at the battle raging outside. Rapid bolts of energy silently criss-crossed the emptiness between the numerous pinpoint shapes of spaceships in the distance. The naval officer quickly assessed the situation. He didn't need a link to the ship's computer to recognize that the defenders were heavily outnumbered by the swarms of attacking Replicator ships. As if to confirm his analysis, one of the Asgard vessels went from a barely discernible white dot to a blooming energetic cloud in the distance, quickly fading as it expanded.

"Replicator ships breaking off from the main fight, they're heading toward us".

"Capacitor banks fully charged. We'll saturate the whole system with the disruptor wave"

"As well we should, my sensors indicate that Replicators have already begun multiplying on the planet itself"

Galloway narrowed his eyes and set the mental command along with a curse damning the soulless machine tumor.

The tremendous energy capacity of the Asgard science vessel, while dwarfed by its more war-like siblings, was still magnitudes superior to anything else in the Milky Way. Not even the tons of anti-matter fueling the _New America_ and its parasites came anywhere close.

Loki's ship found itself in the middle of an energy wave expanding at the speed of light, reaching out and shattering the bonds holding Replicator nanites together. One after another, the besieging ships lost power and started to drift inertly, while infesting Replicator bodies aboard Asgard-controlled ground and space assets fell apart, to the stunned relief of the little grey-skinned beings who had fought courageously against their impending doom.

Christopher Galloway looked at his ally. Loki was still watching the situation display, showing the assaulting ships now rendered harmless. The diminutive being's mouth opened and appeared to work without actually producing a sound, then turned to face the human who'd just saved the entire Asgard species from extinction and now found himself unable to even think of gloating. In fact, his mind was just coming to grip with the magnitude of the event. And truth be told, an exile himself, forced to flee a ruthless enemy while the remnants of his civilization were fated to a destiny worse than outright destruction, he couldn't help but share empathically what must be going into the minds of every surviving Asgard. It was… sobering to contemplate that such destructive power had been rampaging in the Universe while the Alliance and the Domination had battled in their tiny corner of space.

Speaking of which… his "ally" had made a promise.

Galloway coughed slightly to get the smaller being's attention back.

"Well, I'm glad the Replicators are gone, or at least on the way to extinction, but I have my own concerns as I believe you remember…"

Loki stared at him in his characteristically clinical way.

"Yes. I will return you to your people now."

The starfield rotated outside the viewport, and the vessel once more entered the blue vortex of hyperspace. The return trip was just as short, and the familiar shape of the New America came into view again, floating serenely in the depths of interstellar space.

However, instead of assuming the previous station keeping position, the Asgard ship maneuvered swiftly and smoothly at the behemoth cylinder's front.

"What are you doing ?"

"Fulfilling my promise. This area of space isn't safe for your people and your ship's woefully unprepared to fight the powers that rule in this galaxy"

"Hey, with the knowledge residing in my head I can fix it so it smashes through the Snakes like a hot knife through butter !" the officer protested.

Loki cocked his head. "The Drakas are not the ones you should worry about" he stated. "Besides, the Ancient knowledge repository wasn't meant to be accessed by beings as primitive as your race" he added maliciously, just before he manipulated a control.

Galloway's eyes snapped wide open. He felt suddenly as if something was vacuuming the inside of his mind, sucking away the ponderous blankets of data that were filling it to the point of overcapacity. Just as he sensed the last strands of Ancient knowledge fleeing from his brain, he collapsed once more inertly.

Inside the New America's command deck things, very weird things happened almost simultaneously. First, the crew safety alarm blared again, and the incredulous Lt McBride stared in disbelief at the biotelemetry display, where the Captain's biosigns had just reappeared, displacing the flashing "NO DATA" warning message. His jaw dropped down for good when he glanced at the crew location monitor. Christopher Galloway had, at least according to the sensors, re-materialized (the word was the first to come to McBride's mind) right in his cabin.

And _that_ was nothing compared to what happened immediately afterwards. The ship's multiple redundant flight computers wailed in alarm as they found themselves assaulted by preposterous reports from the external sensors dotting the New America's vast hull. Readings went from the normal conditions of deep space voyage to numbers and values that made no sense. The ship's straightforward logic boxes did the only thing they could safely do : the navigational computers abruptly shut down in the electronic equivalent of a "WTF ?" reaction.

Thanks to the ship's sensible design, internal conditions weren't affected, the life support systems droning obviously to their navigational colleagues' plight.

"Rosie" O'Hare was the first to reach Captain Galloway's cabin and keyed her override code on the door controls. The hatch slid open obediently and she found herself staring at her dumbfounded superior, still clad in a vacuum skinsuit, with the helmet down on the floor.

"Captain…?" she asked cautiously, "err, are you all right ?"

Galloway stared at her, stupefaction visible on his face. Words finally escaped his mouth.

"What in the name of the Seven Hells just happened ?"

"Err, I was hoping you could tell us, Sir. Last we saw you, you were in the cryostorage section… and it was more than an hour ago"

Seconds ticked by before the male officer replied.

"The last thing I remember was staring at my wife's cryocell… and then waking up here"

Both were saved from having to rationalize the event right away as McBride's wavering voice came on the internal speakers.

"Ah, everyone… you should come to the bridge. I'm not sure whether I've gone insane or if what the external sensors tell me is true. There's a frigging planet right in front of us."

**Detention Block, Dante Base, Luna**

**25****th**** October 2010**

It was a good thing that Drakas, and more so Drakenses, possessed a high self-discipline, or, as Alliance diplomats had often remarked, "a perfect poker face" combined with an uncanny ability to read others' facial expressions, even the most subtle of tics.

It took all of Anton de Polignac's self-control to resist the urge to smash the leering Goau'ld prisoner's face. Indeed, Bar'shan was, officially and for his own consumption, a "guest" rather than a prisoner. Ann Rayner had screamed bloody murder when superior orders had come, effectively telling the Stargate personnel to use the carrot rather than the stick. Naturally, there were sound justifications, such as the uncertainty regarding effectiveness of torture on a Goaul'd symbiote, and the psychological analysis concluding that giving Bar'shan the VIP treatment would make him more likely to collaborate.

Therefore the captive had the benefit of a quasi-suite, with comfortable if not luxurious amenities, a small bad of serfs and, what was possibly the most infuriating thing, access to the best food available in the Domination.

At first, it had worked. Bar'shan, after some not-so-subtle demonstration of the fate his refusal to collaborate would entail, had come up with a wealth of data on subjects ranging from the System Lords to the fundamental principles of Goaul'd technology.

All of it had to be taken with a grain of salt, and in the case of technical information, carefully checked, but so far he hadn't obviously tried to double-cross his captors. The key words, there, being "obviously" and "so far". Unfortunately, cross-checking was limited by the relative ignorance of the captured Jaffas, to whom "technology" was "god magic", and couldn't be relied upon for more than very basic confirmation of how a given device should be used in a "monkey see, monkey do" fashion.

It was therefore necessary to remind Bar'shan who was the master here.

"Merarch, what a pleasure to see you"

Anton remained stone-faced despite the disgust he felt at the Goaul'd's oily tone, so unclean compared to the sincere adoration in the voice of a _servus_ addressing his masters. This was the voice of a deceiver, he reminded himself. A being that relied on claims of false godhood to be obeyed. He didn't reply at first, instead gazing purposefully around the room, inspecting every detail, from the half-eaten food in the expensive china to the young servus girl kneeling obediently next to the polished wood desk and its clutter of old-fashioned paper sheets.

The Draka did a double-take. The girl was naked, which wasn't surprising, but something else attracted his eyes. She kept her face lowered, half hidden behind her flowing dark hair. In two easy steps, he was standing over her, and his fingers closed down on her chin, tilting her head up. The high brows, finely delineated brows and heart-shaped face marked her as pure Scandinavian stock, an expensive, bred-for-pleasure servant. Her beauty was marred, however, by the blueish bruise around her left eye. A low growl threatened to escape the Draka's throat as he firmly pulled her arms away from her chest, discovering the red welts on her tender flesh. He inhaled the scent of fear coming from her and clamped firmly down on his own pheromonal response. She wasn't the one who should be frightened here. He also made a mental note to find the technician responsible for monitoring Bar'shan's quarters and give him a good deserved lashing.

"What. Is. This ?" his eyes bored into the Goaul'd's, underlining the dangerously calm set of his voice.

His interlocutor's eyes flashed arrogantly, clearly not believing he had anything wrong here.

"I punished this slave as she failed to serve me properly !" He made a contemptuous chin gesture in her direction. "What use is a slave that doesn't obey perfectly ?"

Anton looked down at her once more, taking in her wide eyes and terrified expression. Evidently she was sincerely convinced she'd failed in her task, and was afraid of further punishment. The officer had another idea. He strongly suspected Bar'shan had hit her just for the sake of it and would spin a perfunctory excuse for it. There was but one snag. The girl didn't belong to him.

"And how exactly did she fail to serve you ?"

"She… she failed to show me the proper respect !" Bar'shan managed to spit out.

"I see" _obviously she did nothing wrong but you sadistic bastard just enjoy hitting little girls, don't you ?_ "there is but one problem" he added with a sweet smile, advancing on the heavyset Goau'ld, his posture relaxed and unthreatening.

"And what would that be ?" The tone was just too self-assured. Someone's arrogance had to be broken, Anton reflected. His hand shot out and grabbed Bar'shan's leather tunic. Lifting him easily off his feet, he allowed his restrained anger to burst out and distort his regular handsome features into a mask of rage. Nobody who saw a Drakensis angry would ever mistake him for something merely human. The truth of his personal situation came back to the Goau'ld leader's mind, as the merarch roared in his face, punctuating every word with a shake of the arm supporting the offending body.

"This slave does not belong to you ! In fact, you're only one step removed from being a slave yourself !"

He paused for effect, then flung Bar'shan on the far wall with an easy thrust. The lower lunar gravity spared the victim from a more serious impact, yet it was violent enough that he crumpled down, winded and bruised, then opened his eyes wide in fear as the fuming Draka strode close.

Anton watched the captive's legs scrape the concrete ground in a panicked effort to get clear, an effort made fruitless by the unyielding wall behind, and smiled internally. The despicable creature had amply deserved a taste of his own medicine. He bent down ad grabbed Bar'shan's throat, then lifted him forcefully. In Earth gravity, it might have snapped his neck, but here he'd be in for mere pain.

"If one of your servants doesn't give you entire satisfaction, you will notify us and we'll punish her - for we and only we are the masters here !" he continued in a calmer, yet icy tone. "Is that clear, _prisoner_ ?"

The prisoner in question nodded frantically, all arrogance evaporated for now.

"Good" Anton released him and he landed back on his feet. He turned and strode calmly to the guarded entrance, gesturing for the slave girl to leave. She did so hastily, obviously relieved at being ordered out of this place. Before the Draka followed her out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder at the shaken Goau'ld.

"Oh, and you'd better come up faster with those theoretical faster-than-light travel equations. Some of us aren't as patient as I am".

**Conference Room, Dante Base, Luna**

**27****th**** October 2010**

"You can leave, Chrysos, we'll call you if you're needed".

At the master's injunction, the serf exited the room unobtrusively, leaving the assembled Drakas alone. He figured they could help themselves to refreshments if they needed to. In any case, he'd be in the adjoining pantry and watching educational videos until they called for his services again.

The men and women inside the room weren't the only one taking part in the conference. The large wall screen was showing a mosaic of faces belonging to those who weren't physically present, yet had an interest in the proceedings. The room stayed silent for a couple of seconds, but for the barely perceptible hum of the ventilation, then the most important man present spoke, or rather his projection did.

"So, Merarch, it's been a while since I last spoke with you" the voice was still strong despite its owner's increasingly wizened appearance. Eric von Schrakenberg wasn't getting any younger, although the Domination's medical expertise guaranteed that even an old-style Draka could live a lot longer than standard-fare humans. At any rate, he was still firmly in power and his party was very likely to win the coming elections - although his political opponents, the Militants and especially that madwoman Gayner, were screaming bloody murder. Not unsurprisingly, the announcement of the Race's latest conquest a couple of months before a general election was viewed by them as a blatant political maneuver. Not much they could do but whine about it, though, which was all right with Polignac. Pragmatic leaders were what the Race needed right now more than ever.

The base commander nodded respectfully.

"It is my pleasure, Excellence"

The Archon smiled minutely.

"I don't have much time, unfortunately, so you'll need to be concise. I want to hear the salient points, the detailed reports you can send to my staff"

A few low chuckles answered around the room, then Anton spoke matter-of-factly.

"Sirs, as you know we have added a whole new planet to the Yoke, a planet that hasn't suffered a global war and a such, is ripe for exploitation. The native feral population is all accounted for and has adapted quite well to the Race's service. It is still unsuited for any task more complicated than agriculture and mining, which are currently the two main resources on Abydos."

"Indeed, our tables have seen the results of that" someone quipped back.

Anton nodded, then continued.

"There are huge tracts of fertile lands in the continent's south, which are now opened to settlement, but it will take time before the first plantations yield exportable produce. On the mining side of things, we're already getting a steady supply of energium ore from the desert, and the combines are gearing up to full-bore surveying and exploitation of the New Caucasus mineral resources, which are apparently rich."

Not to mention a lot easier to reach than those in the planet's star system. It would take years to build a space-born industry from scratch there.

"The current military presence, a Citizen Force merarchy and a full Janissary Legion, are sufficient for the time being. The stargate compound is extensively fortified and able to sustain anything short of an orbital bombardment."

"Speaking of which… Arch-Strategos Schneider, what's the progress on those defense upgrades ?"

The focus switched to the immaculately uniformed chief of the Space Force. She cleared her throat, glanced at something on her desk then started to speak.

"Unfortunately" she didn't waste time on a round of honorifics "the material situation hasn't improved much since our last briefing." At those words, several faces showed pouts and scowls, starting with Daphne Jacobson's, the Science Directorate representative.

"That's not entirely true," she said leaning in the camera, "we made great progress on harnessing the potential of energium - or, as the Goaul'ds call it, _naquadah_"

"_Theoretical_ progress for now, Professor" Schneider caught the attention again, "while you have promising designs and prototypes, we're still far from wide-scale deployment."

The civilian held her hand in front of her and nodded apologetically. "Well, yes, it will take time for the first wide-spread applications… but we're making headway, especially with a live Goau'ld to explain things"

_It better be_, Polignac muttered under his breath. He'd caught Rayner tensing minutely at the mention of a live, healthy Bar'shan, so minutely that anyone but another Drakensis couldn't have remarked it. _Yes, he better be forthcoming_.

"About this Goau'ld prisoner," not surprisingly, Anya Rosenberg, the head of the Security Directorate, had interrupted, "I maintain that my service is the most competent to handle such an asset - nobody has more experience in making people _talk_"

Anton sighed inwardly, then answered the chief headhunter aloud, in a firm but polite voice.

"Arch-Strategos, while I don't doubt the demonstrated competence of your men, I must respectfully point out that they don't have any experience in handling _alien_ prisoners. Besides, we're taking every precaution to prevent any mischief on his part" he pointed. "He's secluded in the detention area, under constant monitoring, with two armored soldiers standing guard outside his door. He doesn't have access to anything more than a non-networked civilian-grade perscomp. He even has to write his reports on old-fashioned paper !"

"Still" the woman insisted "he's living in quasi-luxury, with personal servants of all things ! Since when does the Race give such lenient treatment to its fallen enemies ?"

_She has a point_, Polignac thought.

"Believe me, I wish we didn't have to, but the fact is, it works for now. In the future, this may change as our scientists get a better understanding of the symbiote's inner workings" he emphasized with a smile utterly devoid of warmth.

Von Schrakenberg raised his hand, his picture larger than life on the wall display, and everyone's attention went back to his person.

"What about the captives we retrieved on Bar'shan's planet ? Any progress with them ?"

Anton glanced at the lab-coated man seating next to him, the gleaming insignia of the Science Directorate the only decoration on his utilitarian outfit. Thomas Rohm leant slightly forward, his hands neatly laid flat on the table's polished wood.

"Ah, well, I'm afraid they were in a very bad state when we found them. With the notable exception of Decurion Rayner's _new pet" _a few snickers ran around the table "who was in reasonable physical shape. Unfortunately, she suffers from loss of memory, and is making slow progress on this track despite psychological therapy. We'd love to know what she did when she had a symbiote in her head, but apart from what are, according to her mistress, graphic nightmares at night, there's no clue"

"What kind of nightmares ?" Rosenberg asked curiously.

"The kind where she gets eaten alive and tortured in various ways, not necessarily in that order."

The SD chief nodded, her curiosity satisfied, and apparently without the tiniest hint of sympathy in her cold brown eyes.

"A couple other prisoners also used to be Goau'ld hosts, but they're so far gone that it's unlikely they'll ever be able to talk intelligibly again"

_What a waste_, the same thought echoed in every Drakas' mind, before Rohm continued.

"Then there's a dozen others who were never hosts, and we don't have a clue what they did to warrant being in Bar'shan's little dungeon"

"Didn't you ask him ?" Rosenberg interjected.

"Actually, no. He doesn't know we have them, and we wish to keep it that way, in case we can use them in the future to cross-check his declarations"

"I see" the woman simply said, before inviting Rohm to continue with a flick of her wrist.

The man displayed a tiny smile, having kept the best piece of data for the end.

"One of the prisoners appears to be different, though" he congratulated himself internally, seeing the suddenly renewed flame of interest in the eyes watching him. "A man, in his thirties in Earth years, for what the physicians can tell. He wasn't a host either, and somehow he seems distinct from the rest"

He paused for effect, then grinned as he carried on.

"Keep in mind that he was, and still is, in very bad physical shape. Bar'shan obviously tortured him very… thoroughly, and left him to rot, quite literally. The medical staff had to amputate most of his limbs, and even then only our strongest treatments barely stopped the widespread gangrene."

"Huh, bad physical shape sounds like an euphemism in this case" Schneider observed in a deadpan tone.

"Yes, well, we had to cut his arms and legs, and remove several pounds of necrotic tissue on his torso, and that's after Bar'shan had removed his eyes and genitals already" Rohm stated with professional detachment. A few grunts answered around the room, and he carried on without displaying any noteworthy emotion.

"Still, for all our medical prowess he wouldn't have survived if his physiology hadn't been strong and healthy originally. He didn't display any sign of past nutritional deficiencies, and his teeth" _what was left of them_ "show traces of modern dentistry work, the kind only an evolved society can provide" Rohm paused, ostensibly to catch his breath, and to enjoy the rapt attention he was being given.

"Not only that" he displayed a smug smile "but the tattered remains of his clothing were made of advanced synthetic fibers, similar to our thermoregulating and antibacterial garments, which explains in part his miraculous survival. In short, he's the proof that another advanced civilization must exist apart from the Goau'ld" he concluded and gazed around to judge the effect of his revelation.

Von Schrakenberg frowned and cocked his head. "Are you sure of that ? Did he say anything ?"

"Ah, no, he's still in a coma and will remain so for another two weeks, the time for all his wounds to close, then the physicians will start regeneration therapy to regrow all the appendages. And we're sure he doesn't come from Earth, in case you're wondering. His DNA, while undeniably close, shows enough drift to rule out the hypothesis. But curiously enough, he seems to have a very distant parentage with both the primordial italian, that is, roman era, genus, and with the early meso-american one "

"That's... fascinating" the old Archon stated. "This man is to receive the best possible care. Who knows, he might be the key to gaining invaluable intel if he's indeed from a civilization advanced enough to give the Goau'ld trouble. Maybe even…" he paused, as the implications of what he'd been about to say hit him.

"Excellence ?" Schneider, as well as everyone else, appeared to be suspended to his lips.

He folded his hands in front of him and stared at them through the camera.

"The Domination could find an ally… an ally of convenience, mind you, to use until we can put them under the Yoke. But faced with the mortal threat of the Goau'ld power, we need to use every asset, every opportunity that presents itself"

All nodded in understanding, even Rosenberg, albeit rigidly.

"That's all for today, then. Service to the State !"

All replied in unison with the traditional words.

"Glory to the Race !"

**Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Milky Way...**

The _New America_. The colossal starship had blurred the borders between "ship" and "station" when its designers had drawn the first plans several decades earlier. It shared a lot with the rotating habitats of the Belt, starting with sheer size and shape, a kilometer-long cylindrical main hull to which large solar and radiating arrays were attached like giant gossamer wings. However, a closer inspection showed none of the huge windows typical of an orbital habitat, as the ship's passengers weren't expected to actually live in except for a select (or unfortunate, depending on the viewpoint) few. Its planned destination was an habitable planet after all, therefore the 100,000 souls onboard were expected to disembark and head "down" as soon as their batch was thawed, in a planned and ordered manner.

The plan had gone out of the window.

Instead of reaching Alpha Centauri after a 40-years voyage, the massive construct found itself floating in an utterly unknown star system, tucked in geostationary orbit of some planet that clearly wasn't the one intended. That fact was puzzling alone. How did the ship reach this place and how did it mysteriously decelerate from interstellar velocities to orbital speed ?

Where had the captain disappeared ?

Who or what was responsible ?

None of the crew members assembled in the command deck had an inkling of a clue. To be fair, they had reacted professionally, at least as far as their training allowed for the present situation, which wasn't much. Having checked the ship's integrity and verified that it was indeed in a stable orbit instead of falling helplessly down the gravity well, they were now gawking at the main display, which was currently replicating in high resolution what the main wide aperture visual array could see. The mysterious planet filled most of the picture along with data overlays provided by the ship's sensors. It was a roughly Mars-sized body, although unlike the red planet, this one showed the light grey color of dusty ice, barely smudged by a thin atmosphere that read as mainly nitrogen and methane.

Lt McBride first stated the obvious.

"That's not what I call an inhabitable planet."

His captain grunted before giving his own comment.

"Too far from the primary, out of the liquid water zone" He banged his fist on the metal console. "Dammit, why ? Is this someone's idea of a cosmic joke ?"

Nobody answered, although the glares were eloquent enough.

"Anything else in system ?"

"Preliminary observation indicates a gaseous giant further out, and what might be satellites, but the telescopes have just started their scan, they'll need days to map the place with any accuracy" an ensign replied from behind, bent over a secondary console.

Galloway forced himself to remain calm and focused. On one side, settling below was out, unless they built sealed domes. But then why not stay in orbit ? Provided they found a supply of raw materials, preferably in nice convenient asteroid form, the _New America_ had everything needed to lay the foundations of a space-borne industrial complex. The upside was, they now had a large surplus of antimatter in the tanks. Energy, at least, wasn't going to be a problem.

And who knew, there might be a more welcoming system nearby that they could reach… although he wasn't going to bet heavily on that possibility. No, it looked like they'd have to make the best out of the cards they'd been dealt.

But something needed to be done first.

"Kaplan, get the General thawed. This whole situation's over my pay grade."

"Captain, sir, I'm a little worried about your ah, escapade" the ship's medical officer answered with a frown of concern "You should be examined"

Galloway suppressed an irritated reply. The major was right. And there was this amnesia that was as mysterious as everything else. Heck, if the CMO felt like it, he could declare him unfit for duty. He sighed. "All right, I'll head to sickbay, but you send a team to cryo. The general has to see all of this" _and in the worst case, he'll be there if something bad happens to me_.

Before he left the bridge, there was a last order to give.

"Launch a probe. I want to know what the other side of this ice ball looks like" _probably more dirty snow, but we'll need the data anyway._

Reversing the cryo-vitrification process was just as time-consuming as doing it in the first place. The frozen body needed to be brought back to a slightly-above freezing temperature in a deliberate and controlled manner so as not to destabilize any part, which already took a dozen hours. Then came the delicate task of undoing the initial transformation, whereby complex chemical reactions aided by billions of nano-agents had changed living tissue into stable, virtually immortal glass-like matter.

The whole process was automated, and all Kaplan had to do was monitor it. Not that he could do much in case something went wrong, but the Snakes had done their homework well. Combined with the Alliance' better grasp of nanotechnics, it was very safe, if unsettling for the people who went through.

Naturally, no time passed for them, from the moment they were sedated to the moment their brain cells started to fire again. It was just like a full anesthesia.

Another ten hours later, a chime indicated that the body of Frederick Lefarge was back to a squishy, meaty living state, although still in controlled hypothermia.

Under Kaplan's supervision, his two assistants removed the general from the revival capsule, slapped a sheet and a heating blanket on his nude form and wheeled him to the recovery ward, still attached to various biomonitors.

It was there that he eventually woke up, shivering despite the blanket and the warm IV, his throat unbelievably dry, his eyes gritty, and his stomach ravenous, but alive.

"General ? Can you hear me ?"

The light was blinding and he squeezed his eyes half-shut, trying to focus on the face above him. The first sound he tried to make was more a croak than anything else.

"Don't worry, dryness is a normal after-affect" the voice explained in the reassuring manner typical of doctors and nurses everywhere. He felt a small cannula slip between his lips, followed by the heavenly taste of water. The liquid felt like a balm in his parched mouth, and he drank it with relish. His throat felt a little better now.

"M-m-major Kaplan" he managed to utter. His mind was clearing quickly. "You weren't s'posed to be in the last crew"

The man shook his head. "No, we woke you up early on schedule"

"What ?" Lefarge said with a tone of concern.

"It's a long story, but the ship's in no danger. You'll want to hear and see for yourself, though…"

"Just get me out of this bed, Major !"

The medical officer put his hand on his patient's chest to prevent him from trying to stand up. "Not just now, Sir, you're just out of cryo and you're not fit for running around, even in low-gee. Besides, I need to make sure your body doesn't show any complication from the thawing"

Lefarge merely grunted, looking straight at the ceiling. "Could eat something solid"

A chuckle answered him. "That's another normal after-effect. We'll get you some food while I run the tests."

Three hours later and with a full stomach, Lefarge was freed from his multiple umbilicals and allowed to leave his bed. His first steps were rather stiff, but the gravity was only a fraction of Earth standard, and by the time he'd reached the command deck, clad in a fresh uniform taken from his personal storage, his feet had regained most of their walking strength.

Which was a good thing, for the sight displayed before his eyes nearly made his legs collapse under him.

"My God. Will someone tell me what this is all about ? How can there be a planet nearby when we shouldn't arrive in the Centauri system for another thirty years or so ?"

"Well, Sir, here's what we know happened…" Galloway started.

"… and this is what the probe discovered on the other side"

On the main display, the external visual feed was replaced by another picture. The probe had been launched on a lower and faster orbit, yet, this image wasn't centered on the planet's surface. Only a portion of it was visible at the bottom, and a striking silvery grey line cut the vast expanse across the picture, perpendicular to the ground plane. Another picture followed, panning up. The line continued toward the black sky. A third view appeared, this time magnified in addition to the increase in elevation.

"Jesus Christ" the general's jaw hung open in astonishment.

Seconds passed as the ludicrous image imprinted itself on his retinas. High, very high above the planetary surface, the thin strand seemed to flare into a disk, not unlike a flower on a stem, a disk with a convex under surface and features barely visible in the distance.

"According to the probe's radar, this thing is a hundred kilometers in diameter" Galloway commented calmly.

"A beanstalk. Unbelievable" Lefarge was now sitting and massaging his temples. "We considered building one on Earth… and rejected it. Too vulnerable. But here… Who built that ?"

"No idea, Sir. We didn't see any other artificial structure on the planet's surface, no infrared traces, not radio waves, nothing"

"And the sheer size of this space station… do we have a view of it's outer surface ?"

Galloway flashed a thin smile.

"Actually, Sir, we have. We launched another probe in a high elliptical orbit, and it was able to get a glimpse of what's there" he paused, eyes twinkling. "See for yourself"

Lefarge let a slow exclamation. "Holy Mother of God !"

Tantalizingly close, the vast corolla didn't show metallic silver, but the iridescent sheen of a huge bubble dome, under which swam the blue, green and white colors of life.


	14. Chapter 14

Well, this update is inaugurating my new attitude towards . Nothing bad, don't you readers worry ! On the contrary, I'll be updating the story here more frequently, that is whenever I write a new part instead of waiting to post an entire chapter. So one one hand updates will be shorter, but they'll also be more frequent.

Thanks to Permanganate for his message !

Comments always welcome, I unblocked anonymous ones. Should remain so unless there's massive spam/abuse.

**Chapter 14 - Friend or Foe**

**Dante Base, Luna**

**November 2010**

For weeks his body laid on a bed, covered with sensors, oxygen tubes and osmotic injectors. For weeks the medical attendants monitored his vitals, cleaned his wounds and changed the dressings, keeping his martyred shape clean so the abused flesh could repair itself. The doctors had watched and nodded, talking to themselves and trying to come up with any previous case that could be compared, and failing to do so. They were hardened professionals, having gained experience on the Domination's battlefields where the broken and mangled remains of men and beasts of war laid bloody on violated grounds. They were familiar with the horrors of industrial warfare and pacification. Yet none had seen someone treated quite as viciously as this patient had been, for Drakas never asked not gave quarter, but at least they didn't let their fallen enemies suffer in such unneeded fashion.

Well, it could be argued that the Security Directorate could use rather brutal methods, modern interrogation techniques made crude torture useless. And a slave's collar could give excruciating pain, but didn't permanently harm… at least not in a physical sense.

So they had given the man their best possible care, as they would have had even if they hadn't received unambiguous orders in that direction. His life was in no immediate danger any more, his wounds closed, skin grafts covering the extensive patches where dead flesh had to be cut off. His bloodstream was swarming with tailored growth factors that told long dormant sections of his genetic code to reactivate, sections that had governed embryonic development when he had been nothing more than a clump of undifferentiated cells in his mother's womb. His organism was responding to them, stimulating the creation of new cells and structures to replace those that has been destroyed or cut away, guided by nanoscale markers. In effect, his amputated limbs were slowly growing back, as were his eyes.

The process was at its early stage however, and the delicate tissue filling the sockets was bathed in sterile nutrient-filled gel, kept in place by a rigid shell looking like white blank goggles.

Nevertheless, it had been decided that it was safe to wake him from his long coma at last. Many questions waited for him.

"Can you hear me ?"

The lying patient's lips parted slightly, though no sound escaped them. They seemed to work silently for a few seconds, as if the mind controlling them was relearning how to use his voice, then at last faint rasping sounds came out of the seemingly disembodied mouth the only feature visible on the bandaged face.

"Don't worry" the words came in Goau'ld dialect, giving the lie to them "you are safe and being cared for".

At least that was different from… the most recent memories flashed back, and with them ghostly pain and fear. He was fully conscious when that sadistic Goau'ld had dissected him, using elaborate techniques to make it slow, each excruciating second stretching out as his flesh was rendered apart… all the while having to hear the cruel gloating that his screams could never drown completely.

Anton frowned as the man gasped, his pitiful remnant of a body visibly shaking under the medical implements covering it.

"I'm not here to harm you - we found you in Bar'shan's compound and we have been treating your injuries since then" he explained soothingly, at the same time deliberately working up an adequately calming pheromonal flow. It seemed to work, for the shaking subsided. The physician's frown hardly decreased, though. Doctors were always protective of their patients, even in the Domination, and this particular one had enough seniority that his complaints would go straight to the top. Still, he knew what was at stake, and had agreed to the early interview, with the proviso that he'd remain the ultimate judge of whether Polignac could pursue or not.

"I am speaking in Goau'ld because it seems the best bet to communicate with you" the comforting voice reached Renim's mind. It also told him one thing : it didn't belong to one of his people. He summoned his strength to utter a reply.

"Who - are - you ?"

The words came with difficulty, but Anton had no trouble understanding them and a sense of triumph flashed through him. The man was able to understand him, and he was sane enough to give a coherent answer !

"My name is Anton de Polignac, and I'm the commander of the unit that found you"

Renim pondered the strangely accented words, with the name's unfamiliar and exotic sonorities. It didn't ring a bell in his memory.

"Who - people - are - you ?" he rasped.

The Draka officer took a breath. He had prepared for this very eventuality, but the next words still felt strange in their unspoken implications.

"My people are called the Drakas. Months ago a Goau'ld mothership attacked our homeworld." He saw the patient's mouth grow slightly stiff at the corners.

_Poor bastards_, Renim actually thought in sympathy.

"We were able to destroy it, and we discovered the use of our planet's stargate. To make a long story short, one of our soldiers was taken prisoner on another world and ended in Bar'shan's captivity just like you."

This time it was a cringe, which Anton recognized as such.

"She was tortured too, but she managed to escape. Then Bar'shan himself followed through the gate, and we captured him"

"You - captured - Bar'shan ?" the question was tinted with a mixture of surprise and elation.

"We did, and immediately afterwards we stormed his palace, destroying his remaining troops. You were among the prisoners we found there. Unfortunately, most of them have either lost memory or gone insane - hardly surprising considering the torture they were subjected to."

Renim mulled over the man's (for it was a male voice) last words. Truth be told, there had been moments when he'd felt his sanity on the verge of being ripped off from his mind. It was a close thing. Only hope - hope of seeing his home and family again - had kept him going, the symbolic buoy his martyred consciousness had latched onto when the abyss of madness had tugged insistently. Yes, when the pain had become truly unbearable mental oblivion had loomed there seductively. How easy it would have been to relinquish the fight and let himself drown in the warm blackness of dementia !

Only it would have been wrong.

For he had survived after all. And maybe, maybe he would see his home again.

"Thank - you" he worded at last. A warm chuckle answered him.

"Well, we couldn't leave you there, could we ?"

Renim smiled feebly. Speaking was becoming easier - and it just felt good to be able to.

"I can't feel my body…"

"Ah, yes, that…" Anton paused. "Well, the good news is, given enough time we can repair all the damage to your body. The bad news is, we ned to re-grow all your limbs"

The gasp escaping Renim's mouth made it clear that he was a little shocked by the news. Actually…

"You - you can make my limbs grow back ?" His surprise was obvious.

"Yes we can - you have a standard human physiology. It will take months though, I have to warn you, and some of it can be slightly uncomfortable, but in time you'll be whole again."

A moment passed without words. Finally, Anton came to the juicy part of the discussion, at least from his point of view.

"So, I told you who I was, but I'm still in the dark regarding your identity or where you come from" he said in a light conversational tone. "Care to reciprocate ?"

Renim's visible features tensed ever so slightly. The Draka caught it. _Protective reflex - interesting, especially in his state. Military training or mere aftereffect of the torture ?_ He logged the thought away.

His interlocutor answered at last : "I can't see you."

"That's because Bar'shan destroyed your eyes as well. They're regenerating, but in the meantime they're under a protective shell, and you wouldn't see anything anyway."

Anton observed the man's chest heave, sucking in a lungful of oxygenated mixture, then exhale forcefully. Making up a decision, he surmised. He was proved right in the following moment.

"My name is Renim, I'm an officer in the Imperial Tollan Navy"

Polignac allowed himself a small smile. He'd been right. The man was a soldier, and the Domination had to know more about this Tollan Navy of his.

"Well, I'm a soldier to although I don't serve in my nation's navy. I'm infantry - a Merarch to be precise" he chuckled, seeing the pout of incomprehension on his counterpart's face. "Yes, the word wouldn't mean anything in the Goau'ld language, or yours, I suppose. To give you an indication, a merarchy usually counts 1500 fighters, although in my case it's a little more complicated"

This explanation obviously made things a little clearer for Renim, who smiled tightly - as much as he could anyway - and answered in kind.

"Eh. I was not so high on the ladder… My grade would translate as gunnery section leader, I think. I was responsible for the direction of the main ion cannon battery on…" his voice broke slightly as he recalled the memories of his last battle.

The crew's consternation when the first salvo from his cruiser failed to damage the Hatak arrogantly demanding the surrender of the Tollan colony on Larissa-4. Then the panicked cries when the Goau'ld ship unleashed its response, battering down the Tollan vessel's shields before smashing apart chunks of the armored hull and puncturing the pressurized compartments. In their complacence - but who could have predicted the Tollan's century-old advantage in offensive capability would have become moot in such a brutal manner ? - the air-tight sections had been left open, and dozens of surprised crewmen were sucked away screaming into the cold vacuum before the computers ordered every blast door shut.

The pounding had continued in earnest, destroying the _Vigilant_'s hyperdrive, and the commander had activated the scuttling charge before giving an evacuation order, as the remaining sensors showed the Goau'ld assault crafts on their way, no doubt intent on seizing this valuable prize. Whatever the Goau'ld new tricks, they wouldn't be allowed to capture a Tollan cruiser and the unique technology it contained.

Renim remembered the usually crisp bright bridge, now obscured, filled with acrid smoke and electrical sparks and the screams of wounded crew mates. The mad rush through damaged passageways, the hiss of escaping air, cries and pleads for help by men and women trapped behind bent hatches that wouldn't open.

He'd reached an escape capsule with two other men, and the three had punched out of the flaming wreck seconds before its final and eye-searing death. They knew that the commander and key engineering officers had remained onboard, for they knew too much to fall into enemy hands.

Minutes later, their capsule was retrieved by a Goau'ld Tel'tak and brought into the Hatak's cavernous bay, where Jaffas had brutally separated the three Tollan. It was followed by the first of many beatings…

And then he'd ended in the horrible dungeon, separated from his compatriots. After which he remembered only pain and humiliation.

He fell silent again and weary from all the talking. The Drakas recognized his state, and Anton raised a placating hand before the doctor's open mouth could speak. Meeting the white-garbed man's gaze, he nodded understanding, then turned to Renim's lying shape again.

"Well, Renim, as a soldier I understand how you must feel, and I'm sure things will get better. But for now you need rest or your physician will make an attempt on my life" he ended jokingly, raising a strained smile on the Tollan's lips.

"Thank you - Anton of the Draka" he articulated with sincerity.

For Polignac, it was time to leave, as the doctor was staring daggers at him, and the conversation was already longer than he'd expected.

Longer and oh-so-fruitful, as the grinning Drakensis exited the intensive care ward on his way to the main complex.

**Weapons Research and Development Station **_**Anvil**_

**Mars Sector, Solar System**

Inside Anvil's nerve center, senior Draka engineers were supervising the last stages of today's event's preparation. They and countless other scientists, engineers and technicians had been working day and night for months, poring over captured Goau'ld artifacts, combing them to unlock their secrets and apply them to their own designs. They weren't starting from scratch, naturally. The Domination already used powerful energy weapons, but so far they'd remained constrained by the necessities of thermodynamics and power generation. Put simply, before discovering energium (or, as it was now being called by its Goau'ld name, naquadah) and harnessing its quasi-magical ability to apparently cheat things like thermal dissipation and conservation of energy (which, thanks to theoretical input from the Goau'ld prisoner, they knew was due to the superheavy element's natural connection with the still mysterious subspace layer) simply scaling up existing designs was impractical. Lasers and particle beams would simply melt unless supported by increasingly large and complex cryogenic equipment with the associated humongous radiating arrays. The same constraints applied to energy generation. There was simply a point where the law of diminishing returns struck hard.

Now, though, the hurdles had been mostly lifted. Demonstrators and small-scale prototypes were built and operated as proof of concept for advanced power cores and high energy circuits, clearing one barrier after another and validating the basic concepts for the devices now taking shape in various laboratories scattered in the solar system.

_Anvil_ was one of those, a combination of a space station and test rig whose commissioning dated back to the year 1974. Virtually every weaponized high-powered laser and particle beam in Draka service since then was born in its metal cradle. It had been regularly refitted and upgraded to the point that it was now one of the largest stations in existence, most of the apparent bulk devoted to the kilometer-sized radiators that used to cool its two He3 fusion reactors and backup fission piles. However, the station was also the first large structure to benefit from naquadah-based regenerative cooling and subspace thermal sinkage, relegating the vast sail-like arrays of heat-conducting material to backup purposes.

More super-capacitor rings were added too, for the instantaneous power output of the station's reactors was insufficient to feed the latest prototype affixed to the main experiments bay at the station's prow. A long cylinder studded with control boxes, the dull glint of superconductor mesh visible in places below the numerous excrescences on its shell, thick power and telemetry cables branching out from its base to the reinforced cradle which held it.

At nearly 90 meters long and 15 wide, it was longer and fatter than a battlestation's spinal particle beam. The final version would be leaner with none of the slapped-together look of some components, but for now what counted was only workability.

"So, Master, do you think it's going to work ?" one of the skinsuited serf technicians asked to an engineer floating nearby. In most settings, a serf would never dare question his superiors so casually, but the Science Directorate Experiments personnel was more tightly-knit than most, the consequence of bright minds congregating in the same place for long periods of time with the same appetite for applied science to bond them. As a result, while the caste difference never disappeared, the atmosphere tended to be less formal and more familiar.

"It does in simulations and we tested every subsystem separately, of course we've run a pretty hectic schedule here…" the man replied with a little frown, waving the hand that wasn't currently gripping a handhold.

"That we did ! Although I remember before the War… things were hectic back then" Both did. Their working relationship, as did many of the station's senior personnel, went back decades ago. They all had witnessed friends, colleagues and valuable serfs falling victim to accidents, often lethal, because of the frenzied pace of technological research during the Protracted Struggle. It was literally a matter of "make it work, whatever the cost", and the cost was high indeed.

"Hell yes. I guess we grew lazy after that, without the damnyanks to light a fire under our collective ass"

"Not any more, with those Goau'ld threatening us the Race needs those weapons, and yesterday, if you don't mind me saying so, Master"

Both men chuckled, and a nearby junior tech, his black hair and dusky complexion marking his origins somewhere in the Domination middle-eastern provinces, floated by idly, obviously unoccupied and therefore up to no good, both decided.

"Hey Mahmood, are you afraid ?" the engineer asked in jest.

"Oh, Master, no, we're safe here ! What could go..."

He was suddenly interrupted in mid-sentence by a slap on the back of his head.

"Don't you ever say that, you fool ! What did they teach you at the academy ?" the senior tech was half-growling, half-hissing.

The citizen engineer straightened up, his face going serious, and scowled at the wide-eyed younger serf. He waved a raised index in front of the flushed face to punctuate his own added ribbing, delivered in his best "I'm-gonna-punish-you" voice.

"Do you want us all to die, you silly boy ?" He frowned deeper. "Should I have to call the headhunters and tell them we have a vacuum-brained serf running around provoking the demon Murphy ?"

Mahmood was definitely unsettled now. "Master, no please ! Not the head… the Security Directorate ! I swear I won't do it again ! Please !" he whined, almost tearily. He'd been the pride of his family when the Mistiss had announced he was selected for the Serf Technical Academy, back at the plantation, where he had displayed a marked fascination for nuclear weapons during his whole childhood. If they threw him out to the dreaded black uniforms, his future would lay in a labor gang or worse.

The Draka scowled again for effect. "We'll see about that, silly buck. In the meantime, I won't trust you on this command deck, you could jinx something with your foul aura alone." He paused before delivering the next sentence. "Head to my quarters and stay there until I come for you. And strip off your clothes once you're there, understood ?"

The serf swallowed a lump in his throat then answered meekly, eyes cast down.

"Yes, Master" He bowed as well as he could in micro-gravity then turned and floated away.

Behind his back, the citizen engineer and the serf senior tech shared a blank look, but their meeting gazes were alight with laughter.

Of course Mahmood was right. The station's control module was detachable, essentially an autonomous spacecraft. It was currently holding station 30,000 km from _Anvil_, its communication dishes and laser receivers locked in soundless dialogue with their counterparts on the behemoth's structure. The distance, and the remote ship's own bow shield should protect it and the crew in case Murphy decided to strike.

"T minus five minutes" a announcement rang aboard the vessel. The mood inside the command deck grew instantly focused and serious for everyone. Those who weren't directly involved in the firing watched mutely, taking in the telemetry feeds displayed on the multiple monitors. Power curves and bars were increasing steadily, temperatures were normal. The two fusion reactors had been feeding the capacitors banks whose naquadah infused superconducting rings could store virtually unlimited energy, ready to unleash it through the mighty electromagnet assemblies that were the weapon's beating heart. Even then, tiny inefficiencies remained in the system, which would normally generate tremendous amounts of waste heat in previous-generation design of the same projected power. Here, however, the liquid naquadah coolant would instantly absorb and convert it to usable energy through a process that scientists were still struggling to understand. But the engineers didn't bother pulling out their hair : they just used this miraculous property.

"T minus 30 seconds"

The stored energy peaked inside the capacitors as the main feed was cut from the reactors. The rings held their charge perfectly. There was no leak, no power drain, just as expected and demonstrated before. In theory, they could store even more… but it wasn't needed for now.

"T minus 5 seconds"

Once launched, the whole experiment was automated, although it could be interrupted right until the weapon fired. There was no reason to do so, however : every parameter was in the green. Yet, every man and woman inside _Anvil_ held their breath now.

Three hundred thousand kilometers away, the equivalent of the Earth-Moon distance, a lone nickel-iron asteroid floated oblivious to its impending doom. The potato-shaped object was one of the many selected for their composition and convenient size in the asteroid belt, then pushed in-system using the tried-and-true Orion drive method.

"Ignition !"

The vast energies were released from the capacitor banks, coursing through the circuits towards the precisely aligned electromagnetic coils and the breach emitter. A microsecond later a tight beam of anti-neutrons erupted from the particle cannon's mouth, shearing the vast gulf of space in a straight line between _Anvil_ and its target. Traveling virtually at the speed of light, the thin pencil of ultra-energetic antiparticles struck the ferrous mass a mere second later, its passage through the black void made visible as a dazzling thread of white-hot radiated brilliance.

Sheer kinetic force competed with the explosive annihilation of ordinary matter and its exotic nemesis to punch through the outer layers of the asteroid, boring deep below its surface. Back on Anvil the focusing magnetic fields at the cannon's muzzle shifted minutely, sweeping the beam aside to slice through the target's mass. Less than a second after the ray had connected with the asteroid, the massive stresses induced by the explosive reactions deep in its core finally overwhelmed its remaining integrity. The metal potato shattered, a myriad of smaller fragments flew apart like shining shrapnel, while two larger halves, minus the vaporized matter, drifted almost leisurely away from each other, their molten inner surface glowing cherry red.

The beam vanished abruptly, the capacitors drained of power. Inside the cradle, leftover energy bled back from the superconducting conduits, harmlessly discharging as brief spectacular arcs of lightning.

Inside the control module, the expectant silence was broken by celebratory shouts and cheers and back-slapping that sent men floating randomly until they found a hand- or foot-hold again. The test was a success. Now all that remained was eliminating the inevitable kinks and optimizing the design into a package adapted for military use and mass production, which in itself was a daunting task.

"Well, Master, we did it !"

"By Freya's cocksucking lips we did !" the engineer slapped the technician's shoulder affectionately. The serf replied with a smile of his own, for echoing the Draka's familiar gesture would have been a gross violation of proper decency. "Although we need a better power source. It takes too long to charge the capacitors"

"I suppose the teams at Mercury will have to work double shifts on this naquadah-antimatter reactor" the technician offered.

"Yes, and they need to bring more converters online too… we're not the only ones clamoring for more antimatter to play with or so I heard. Anyway, I'm off to my quarters. There's a silly young buck waiting for his punishment" the Draka concluded, drifting away with a push.

"Master ?"

He glanced back at the tech, who spoke again with a dash of concern. "Please, don't be too hard with Mahmood… he's a good lad"

A chuckle came back.

"Don't you worry, I'll use some lube."

**Complex B,** **Dante Base, Luna**

**1400 Archona Time**

Inside the transit hall, the air was fresh and straight out of the compressed storage. The entire hall was pressurized for now, although the departing travelers could have done without thanks to their environment suits. There wasn't any urgency in giving it back to vacuum, as the next freight maglev from Abydos wasn't due until 1900, loaded with raw ore and agricultural products. In the other way, the next outbound train would go through at 2000, transporting workers and settlers and the heavy equipment needed to pursue the taming of Abydos. As it happened conveniently, standard lunar mag-trains had exactly the cylindrical shape and dimensions to fit through the stargate, albeit at reduced speeds for safety's sake in addition to the air resistance at the other end. Work was still going on to prolong the line all the way to New Alexandria. The construction work was done mainly at night to avoid the high day temperatures, the specialized serf gangs laboring under the electrical glare to lay down the magneto-repulsive superconductor line.

But the small delegation assembled now was neither a serf gang, nor an assault force, not even a reconnaissance team. It was, for all the strangeness of the thing, a Draka diplomatic mission, albeit heavily skewed towards the "armed and dangerous" look. In truth, it consisted in the Merarch, his close soldier kin Rayner and Maxwell, and the rather diminutive in comparison Doctor Jackson, who nevertheless wasn't exactly harmless in his low-profile protective suit. Admittedly a civilian model - for all the distinction that was made in the Domination between "civilian" and "military-grade". Completing the outfit were the large bushknife and the Tolgren pistol dangling in their respective hip holsters.

"I don't think those will be needed" Rayner observed as the gate started to spin.

"Speak for yo'self !" Daniel Jackson shot back, looking pointedly at the carbine slung on the female's chest. She grinned at him. "I like big guns"

The civilian expert's answering chuckle was lost in the loud _swoosh_ of the wormhole's appearance.

Anton clicked his throat mike, speaking to Thomas Rohm who was monitoring in the Operations Center. "There we go. If you don't hear from us in twelve hours…"

"I'll send the cavalry. I know" the base's second-in-command replied.

The merarch waved forward, and the four Drakas stepped through the event horizon.

They stepped out light-years away into a cleared space surrounded by earth works, with forest starting in the distance.

"The description's all right" Jackson commented.

Maxwell did a visual scan of the clearing and snorted under his helmet.

"If that's what those Tollans call "hiding in ambush" they're doing a poor job of it."

Anton nodded. Although he was bare-headed as a sign of trust, his own enhanced vision could pick up the shapes of men who thought themselves camouflaged out of the neighboring terrain. He turned towards the closest group, blending imperfectly behind a clump of bushes, and raised his hand.

"Hello, I come in peace" he called out. He couldn't resist adding "Please take me to your leader", raising snickers from his companions. The whole situation smelled of surrealism. Drakas pretending to come in peace, and cheesy references to cheesier Yank speculative fiction.

He was pleased to see the hiding silhouettes rise out of their concealment. There were three men there - strike that, he corrected himself - two males and one female. One of the men was obviously the leader, walking ahead of the others who were cradling rifle of some sort. Given the sleek shape and lack of recognizable moving parts, probably energy weapons, the Draka surmised. They were held ready but not pointing at the visitors, he noted. Not that he felt threatened. If Renim was any indication, the Tollan were human, and therefore no match for a Drakensis' reflexes.

He stood there, projecting a relaxed an unthreatening aura, waiting for the delegation to meet them near the gate's dialing pedestal. They finally came face to face. His counterpart was tall for human standard, towering a head below himself, with a square face and clear blue eyes. Anton took in ever detail, the lines telling of middle-age, the energetic jaw and close-cropped whitish beard, the clean straight-cut light grey uniform bearing discrete ornaments that were probably indications of rank. _Not bad genetic stock, this man, I'd surmise._

The Tollan returned the examination, not betraying anything on his neutral face. His escorts were slightly frowning, engaged in their own appraisal. Their body language betrayed nervousness kept in check, a rather natural reaction and commendable self-control, faced with three Drakensis soldiers.

At last the Tollan officer spoke, keeping his eyes fixed to Polignac's.

"Greetings. I'm Commander Katallax of the Imperial Tollan Navy. Welcome to Fortisia Four" His voice was clear and crisp as befitted an officer in any army, Anton thought, the gave his reply.

"Commander Katallax. I'm Merarch Polignac of the Draka Citizen Force." Glancing aside, he added "Fortisia Four looks like a lovely planet."

"Actually, it's a moon, orbiting a gas giant close to the system's sun. The orbitals make for interesting day and night patterns" Katallax explained, cracking a narrow smile. "Not to mention the tides, but that is of no concern to us right now"

He waved to a pair of Tollan soldiers coming toward the group, holding scanning equipment. "As soon as we've determined that you're not carrying hidden weapons, explosives or transmitting devices, we'll lead you to our capital world. I hope you don't mind the precautions, but fighting the Goau'ld taught us to be prudent"

Anton shook his head. "Very understandable. Of course, we do carry weapons and transmission gear as part of our standard equipment" he observed.

"Those aren't a concern. We wouldn't expect you to come unarmed after all"

The Drakas watched neutrally as the two foreign soldiers waved scanners around them. It took only seconds, before they straightened out and gave their report to Katallax in their own language.

Jackson strained to listen. He thought he could recognized some roots and structures and surmised the report meant something like "nothing wrong, commander", but he'd need a lot more material to work out the language in detail.

His guess was right, as the Tollan commander appeared pleased by the report, returning new orders to the soldiers. One of them turned about and started to dial an address on the control pedestal, or, as the Drakas were coming to call it, the Gate Dialing Keyboard, GDK in short. The solid naquadah ring spun, chevrons locked one after another, and the connexion was established. Anton noted the destination address, and was barely surprised that Katallax caught his intention.

"We don't bother hiding our home-world's gate coordinates" the Commander explained, having correctly guessed the Draka's gaze. "It isn't a secret for the Goau'ld and most people in the galaxy"

"Don't you fear surprise attacks ?" Polignac enquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Through the gate ? Ha !" the other officer laughed. "Anyone trying to gate in without the right recognition codes would be splattered against the shield" Seeing the Merarch's curious look, he elaborated. "Tolla's stargate is protected by a force-field. It prevents matter from re-materializing out of the event horizon, in effect destroying unknown visitors. But you'll see for yourself after we go through," he waved the Draka delegation forward, taking the lead in a demonstration of confidence. They stepped in after him, and emerged out at the other end.

The scenery welcoming them was markedly different from Fortisia Four. Instead of earth, shrubbery and distant trees, the found themselves in the middle of a urban environment that bore more likeness to the sky-scrapers of pre-War North America than the lower density Domination cities. Tall graceful towers rose out like a mineral forest, their reflective surfaces catching and diffracting sunlight in dazzling brilliance. Slender bridges suspended hundreds of meters high connected the spires to each other, criss-crossing like a metallic spiderweb.

Anton estimated that the smallest visible tower had to be over four hundred meters in height, but their wider spacing, compared to the Yank metropolises, made the Tollan capital look clearer and airier, an impression reinforced by the omnipresent greenery of suspended gardens, vegetal excrescences on the mineral cliffs.

And despite the urban sprawl, the Drakas' sensitive sense of smell was pleased to note the conspicuous absence of combustion fumes or noxious chemical fumes. It looked clean and technologically advanced.

A buzzing sounded behind them. He turned back, and saw an iridescent immaterial cover snap in place over the still open event horizon. This had to be the force-field.

_Marvelous_, he couldn't help but think. _That's the first thing we'll try to steal, _he added to himself half-jokingly.

"I must admit that Tolla is an impressive sight" he offered to the Commander watching him with a hint of amusement.

"Our capital usually has this effect on visitors, even those coming from advanced worlds" the reply came with an indulgent smile. "As you obviously are, considering your weapons and armor" he added diplomatically to dispel any thought that he considered the Drakan delegation as backward savages.

Almost as on cue, the wormhole disappeared as a gleaming white vehicle swooped down and landed on the flat plaza in front of the visitors. The Tollan aircar equivalent had clean flowing lines, but none of the turbine fairings and aerodynamic protrusions of a Draka-built one. Its operation was almost soundless save for a faint humming throb.

"This vehicle will take us to the Curia, where you will be able to meet our leaders" Katallax explained. Anton nodded and followed him, his escort in tow.

The aircar's passenger compartment was roomy enough for two humans and three Drakenses in light armor, two rows of cream leather seats facing each other with chrome and precious wood trimmings.

_This wouldn't look unfitting in Archona_, Anton thought. _We're getting the VIP treatment._

The flying car silently left the ground without the slightest noise or vibration, gained altitude rapidly and headed toward to tallest spire of all, a giant silver-glass needle topping above the sparse clouds. The exact same thought echoed in the passengers' minds.

_Oh, this is going to be interesting._

The flight took but five minutes, although the Draka delegation was too busy observing, and in some cases honestly admiring, the capital's vistas. Despite the liberal use of vertical construction, the city displayed a sense of harmony that the visitors couldn't but appreciate with its slender towers, wide forested avenues given to pedestrians and "Hey, those are bicycles !" Maxwell exclaimed in Domination English. Polignac, as head of the delegation, answered Katallax' silent question in Goau'ld. The Tollan nodded in comprehension and took the opportunity to play guide.

"We use flying vehicles like this" he did a sweeping gesture to designate the aircar they were sitting in "or magnetically suspended ones, for most transportation, as they're efficient and clean. But our people also enjoy physical exercise. For my part, I used to run daily even before I joined the Navy."

"I understand" Anton replied. "We Draka are also very keen on the development of the body, starting early in childhood."

"I can see that, although I wouldn't expect anything else of another soldier. Ah, may I ask you a more… personal question ?"

"Naturally"

"I can't help but remark some… differences between you or your fellow soldiers" Katallax eyed the three Drakenses (all of whom had removed their helmets inside the Tollan flying limousine) in quick succession "and your compatriot here, Daniel Jackson"

All four Drakas knew the matter would come into question sooner and later, and the answer had been discussed at length along with everything else they would be authorized to reveal.

"I understand your curiosity. Those are due to genetic modifications that became possible around the time my generation was born."

Catching the Tollan's curious glance in his direction, Daniel Jackson provided the rest of the answer.

"I'm too old" he smiled indulgently. "In my time we had to sweat it for every gram of added muscle or reduced millisecond of reaction time" He remained impassible as Rayner made a show of poking him in the ribs.

The Tollan was clearly interested, however, and leaned slightly forward. "So, are those modifications given to everyone in your population ?"

"Every Citizen, yes" No need to explain that not everyone in the Domination was a Citizen, for now.

"I see" Katallax pondered the fact, pretending to look outside. Not that he was that interested in the familiar urban scenery, unlike his guests. Genetic engineering was a barely developed field in the Tollan Empire. He knew that a few experimental medical treatments were being worked on in various institutes, mostly to correct some common gene-related diseases, but what the Drakas displayed on their own bodies was on a whole other level. No doubt the Curia would find it very interesting.

They were close to their destination now and the vehicle climbed higher. Grey stone and metal suddenly were replaced with green and blue as they began overflew a belt of parkland surrounding the Curia tower. Katallax pointed to the paths and streams meandering through the trees and grassed areas. "Those are the Imperial Gardens. When I'm in the capital, that's where I do most of my running, and it's a wonderful place to relax"

"Then I hope we'll have an opportunity to visit them" Anton answered gracefully.

The car slowed and came smoothly down on an outrigger platform several stories above the monumental flight of wide steps that surrounded the tower's first level. Uniformed guards stood at attention outside, along with a female civilian in what looked like an expensive office dress, although its sober cut and subdued off-white color was closer to the Alliance's dress code than to the Domination.

The four Drakas briefly appraised the guards. They were standing sharply with impeccable uniforms and polished boots as ceremonial guards did everywhere, but in truth, they failed to project any sense of threat as far as the four visitors were concerned. Nor did their blank faces reveal anything more than curiosity, betrayed by eyes twitching into the Drakas' direction, before coming back to their straight forward position.

The Tollan executive stepped forward with a controlled polite smile. She wasn't bad-looking, the foursome decided unanimously upon a closer exam. She appeared to be in her thirties, with light chestnut hair pulled back in a plaited bun, lightly tanned skin and pale blue eyes set in a graceful oval face.

_She'd make for a fine bedwench_, Anton immediately decided, and he suspected his companions had reached the same conclusion.

"Greetings and welcome to Tollania" she intoned in a honey-smooth soprano. "My name is Elledia, and I have the rank of Assistant Administrator in the Diplomatic Service. My superior sends his regrets that he cannot greet you here, but he will receive you as soon as you complete the entry formalities."

At Anton's surprise, Daniel Jackson stepped ahead and extended his hand, then spoke in accented Tollan.

"It is our pleasure to meet you, Administrator Elledia" he offered with a suave smile and a minute bow. The Tollan woman considered the proffered hand for a short moment, then gave hers in return, her smile a little wider and warmer.

"Scholar Jackson" she answered in her language "I am impressed at your ease in speaking Tollan. Most visitors don't learn it so quickly, or at all"

Anton mentally rolled his eyes. The damn archeologist's uncanny ability to learn new tongues was almost irritating to a Drakensis' sense of birth-given intellectual superiority. And the man just had to flaunt it in front of the pretty alien wench. On the other hand, it put paid to any thought that his presence was unneeded - not that anyone here had entertained any such.

"My Tollan is still rough, we did not have much to learn from as your compatriot in our care still needs much rest time" Daniel explained.

"There's no need to apologize, Scholar Jackson" Elledia gracefully counterpointed before switching to the more familiar Goau'ld dialect that served as the galaxy's apparent _lingua franca_. "If you will follow me ?" she showed them the way with an elegant hand flourish.

The Drakas fell in line after her, Daniel swiftly getting in the lead where he had an unobstructed view on the Tollan woman's shapely legs and swaying derriere.

They walked through sliding glass doors into a corridor lit by glowing translucent panels, and another set of doors opened to allow them passage into a high-ceiling room. The main feature was a large hotel-style reception desk whose black marble complemented the polished-stone white walls. Anton was starting to get a feel for the Tollans' sense of style. It apparently ran toward the "simple sophistication", rather similar to the last trends appeared in Pre-War Alliance, albeit with an emphasis on noble materials that was pleasing to a Draka mind.

A few more security guards were present, two of them standing behind the marble desk.

"I'm afraid that you will have to leave your weapons here" Elledia explained. "Naturally, they will be returned upon your departure. Ah, you should be advised that wearing arms in public is frowned upon in Tollania" she added with an apologetic smile, standing with her hands clasped on the front of her dress.

Anton nodded and strode to the counter first. Wordlessly, he unfastened his carbine, checked it was safe, and deposited it on the marble slab. His twin pistols followed, joined by a pair of grenades and his read magazines.

The guard in front of him raised a polite eyebrow.

"Your knife, please, Sir"

The Draka resisted the urge to sigh and pulled his mono-edge combat blade out of its chest sheath. It met the precisely aligned arsenal on the counter.

"Thank you, Sir. You should also leave your backpack, as it contains munitions and explosives you won't need here" the guard said in a neutral tone.

Polignac undid the clasps and placed the pack next to the weapons. "I didn't intend to bomb this place anyway" he commented.

"If you did, it wouldn't matter" Elledia returned slyly. "This building has security measures in place that would prevent explosives from doing any damage"

Another item that warranted future investigation, Anton decided. He watched as the pair of Tollan guards pick up the assortment with a slightly bemused look. Evidently it was rare for visitors to bring along such an arsenal, but they handled the weapons competently and safely enough. His belongings were deposited in an open safe that was sticking out of the far wall along with a number of closed ones, much like palestra lockers. After it was closed, the senior guard invited the waiting Draka to input a five-character code on the luminous pad that appeared on the counter. The marble was apparently topped by an ultra-thin tactile display. The keys showed Goau'ld numerals, but Polignac surmised they could seamlessly display whatever glyphs were convenient. He chose a random combination, and the procedure was finished for him.

Daniel stepped in after him, laying down his pistol and kukri.

"Your other knife too, Sir" the uniformed security operator deadpanned, to the doctor's internal displeasure. Not that he intended to go on a killing spree nor had any firm reason to distrust the Tollans (bar the Domination's traditional outlook on foreigners). But it told him they'd been subjected to an unobtrusive security scan, which wasn't too surprising, and above all a Draka felt naked if he had to surrender his weapons. A purely psychological feeling, naturally, as even a naked Citizen was a lethal weapon in itself.

Nevertheless, he complied to the guard's demand, unsheathing the small matte black blade hidden inside his right boot.

"Thank you Sir" the answer was polite enough, without a hint of sarcasm, but Daniel couldn't help feeling that the security men felt a little smug. He consoled himself with a mental image of the offenders being lowered on a sharpened stake. Something that would happen sooner or later anyway, a small voice said at the back of his mind. Whatever the galaxy threw at them, it was still the Race's destiny to put others under the Yoke.

And in the meantime he'd gladly start with the attractive Tollan administrator.

After they completed the security check-in, the visitors were given metal badges - "every foreign visitor gets one" was the explanation provided - and ushered to an elevator that took them, without any feeling of acceleration or deceleration, to the tower's upper levels. Elledia led them through another plush-carpeted corridor that screamed "high level government offices", and impression confirmed by the busy-looking and well-dressed executives prowling the area and the sentries posted at regular intervals.

"Infiltration attempts were made by the Goau'ld in the past" their guide explained, almost apologetically. She didn't elaborate on the fact that the Goau'ld were merely the latest. People from the handful of worlds conquered by the Tollan Empire were the first to try and get back at their conquerors, even though the majority usually found the new leadership a lot better than the former.

Daniel Jackson didn't miss the paintings and engravings displayed on the wood-and-metal paneled walls, their subjects obviously historical scenes and portraits of past leaders. It felt familiar even though details were different. Obviously, human nature worked the same even on worlds separated by the vast gulfs of space and time, yielding recognizable results such as war, conquest, glory and politics.

At last they reached their destination. Upon entering the room, they were greeted by a panoramic view of Tollania's skyline viewed through the one-piece floor to ceiling exterior bay that made up the tower's external skin at this level. Discernible here and there, ghostly flickering and shimmering, was the transparent force-field that protected the building from an outside attack. What looked like flat plastic chairs were strewn along the clear window, and while the wall on the entrance's right-side was solid, the one on the left contained a solid-paneled dark wood door. Alongside it was a brushed metal and glass desk, behind which another smartly-dressed young female sat straighter as the visitors entered, and pressed an illuminated button projected on her desk's surface.

"Assistant Administrator Elledia" she intoned "and the Draka delegation are here, Sir"

She cocked her head slightly, apparently listening to the answer through an ear-piece, then pushed stood up, uncrossing her bare legs in the process. The clear glass slab didn't provide any hindrance to the Drakas getting a good look, although they didn't show any outward reaction.

_I bet she fucks her boss,_ Anton thought. The Drakensis' augmented sense of awareness also picked up hints, in Elledia's subtly altered body language, of carefully, but not quite entirely successfully, hidden antagonism between the two women. He repressed a chuckle. _Like two wenches competing for their Master's favor_, he thought whimsically. _All those ferals can whine about us, but in the end we're just less hypocritical than they are. In the end it all comes down to who has power over whom._

The private secretary stepped near the door and applied her palm on the metallic slab that acted as access control. An instant later, a soft chime sounded, and the door unlocked silently, pivoting on its hinge and allowing access to the inner sanctum.

"All right, Rayner, Maxwell, you stay here. No need for us to all go in. And behave !"

The two soldiers acknowledged with a nod, then Polignac and Jackson went in after Elledia, and the door closed behind them.

In the antechamber, the Tollan girl sat back at her table and pretended to resume her working the desk's integral display, shuffling virtual documents around in an obvious pretense of keeping busy. In fact, she was observing the pair of visitors covertly, or so she thought. She couldn't help being curious about them. Both were clearly soldiers, their bearing said so eloquently, and to be fair they looked taller and fitter than… well, anyone she'd ever seen. Not to mention strikingly handsome and exotic with those cat-like eyes. She'd read the preliminary report on first contact, but it was quite empty of hard facts besides them apparently possessing a respectable technological level and somehow having liberated a Tollan prisoner from Goau'ld captivity, which was no small feat if true. As it probably was, since they had contacted the Fortisia 4 garrison with authentic, if outdated, Navy recognition codes and backup radio protocols, after which dialogue was established through the stargate, leading to them sending this delegation.

Being the personal secretary of the Diplomatic Service's Senior Administrator had its information perks as well. In her position, the young woman had a better idea of the actual military situation than the average Tollan-in-the-street, and knew therefore that the Navy had suffered a string of defeats and "tactical withdrawals" during the last months.

If those Drakas became an ally against the Goau'ld threat, so much the better. She wondered however, what they would make of the Tollan Empire's, well, imperialistic past behavior.

She paused in her reflexion as she became aware of… something. She felt warmer. She glanced at the climate control reading. The air temperature was absolutely normal. Despite that, she was feeling as if the atmosphere was suddenly tropical, warm and moist, like during her last vacation with the Senior Administrator in the Southern Islands. Except she'd been naked then. Now she was starting to sweat under her fancy designer dress. She glanced openly at the two guests. They were slouching on the form-fitting chairs, looking utterly at ease and chatting quietly, occasionally pointing to distant scenery features through the clear wall. She tried to strain and listen, but they were keeping their voice low and were just a bit too far away to make out words, but the sonorities sounded neither Goau'ld nor Tollan. Probably their native language, she surmised. No doubt the security was listening to their discussion as well, but she still couldn't understand it.

At any rate, they weren't paying attention to her, from what she could observe. She wondered if they felt hotter too, then discarded the idea. The temperature reading was unambiguous. It was in her head, somehow, unless the system was malfunctioning… but then maintenance would pick it up immediately.

She shook her head in annoyance. Eventually she decided to speak out.

"Pardon me" she started in Goau'ld, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but does the air feel warmer to you ?"

The pair interrupted their conversation and turned their head in her direction.

"I'm afraid not" the female answered, gibing her a curious look "Besides, our suits are thermoregulating."

"Oh, it must be me then. Sorry to bother you" the Tollan returned with a slightly embarrassed tone and pretended to look away.

Rayner gave Maxwell a meaningful glance, cocking her head minutely. She didn't need to say it out loud, but it was obvious the young woman was feeling the effect of their little innocuous experiment.

It was time to implement Phase Two.

The soldier shifted on his chair. "I'm getting restless sitting there" he commented, just before standing up and stretching visibly. Rayner's peripheral vision caught the secretary's furtive glance, and she raised her head, staring at her comrade with a raised eyebrow.

"Might as well be polite with the company" the man elaborated, pointing at the desk with his chin.

The Decurion shrugged an answer, "Suit yourself", and went back to admiring the exterior vista.

The Tollan girl couldn't pretend to ignore the tall man walking, no, gliding soundlessly toward her like… like her house cat, she realized, with the same supple ease of movement and apparent obliviousness to the world beyond. She swallowed and raised her head, summoning a trained smile.

"Uh, can I do something for you ?"

_Oh, yes I think you can, pretty little girl,_ Maxwell mentally answered with an inner smirk. Projecting a friendly outer demeanor, he crossed his arms and leaned negligently on the desk's edge, his body turned in the outer wall's direction, his head pointed down and away at the Tollan.

"Nice view" he commented in a chit-chat manner, waving a hand in a sweeping motion at the distant skyline, although his comment applied as well to the hint of cleavage that was visible from his overlooking viewpoint.

"Err, yes, it is quite outstanding, isn't it ?" she replied, eying him with a mixture of curiosity and, well, she had to admit to herself, interest. _Professional_ interest, she told herself firmly.

"So, do you have a name ? Mine's Maxwell, but my friends call me Max" he grinned genially.

Unseen, Rayner resisted the urge to roll her eyes, as the Tollan woman gingerly presented herself.

"I'm Karellin"

"Sounds lovely" Maxwell commented, noting the growing blush on his interlocutor's skin. The poor creature was getting a close-up introduction to Draka dominance/lust pheromones. "By the way, I'm curious about something."

Karellin cocked her head in a silent invitation to ask away, and he elaborated.

"Do you people have only one name ?"

"Oh" she shook her head, smiling "no. I'll try to explain it simply. The name we give in everyday conversation, as I just did, is our usual name. Our full names are much longer"

"Really ?" Maxwell was genuinely interested.

"Yes, because they include our family lineage on the father and mother side and place of origin. For example" she breathed in "My full identity would translate as Karellin from Hypatika, daughter of Mekratas and Iseria" she finished breathlessly.

"I see. Well, I'll stick with Karellin if you don't mind" the visitor said jokingly, enjoying her increasingly perturbed state. "You know, I met a girl once who looked just like you" _It was in North America just after the War and the whole surviving Tetrarchy raped her before the ghouloons finished the job,_ he didn't add.

Her face and chest were brightly flushed now, and her breath was running a little ragged. He was savoring her mounting arousal, which in return stimulated his own pheromonal state in a carefully designed positive feedback loop. He felt himself stiffen, although his armored suit wouldn't show it, but her nipples were definitely poking through the fabric of her buttoned dress. And he didn't miss how she nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs, oblivious to her situation.

_She's getting ripe,_ his senses and experience told him.

And Rayner had reached the same conclusion, discreetly observing the proceedings from her seat. It was time to break up the scene or Maxwell would soon be banging the Tollan girl silly on her expensive desk. And that would be rather undiplomatic, to say the least.

She rose swiftly and strode to the desk, wearing a friendly smile, but her eyes bore into Maxwell's for a significant moment.

"I'm getting thirsty waiting," she announced innocently. "I'm sure you people have an equivalent to coffee, don't you ?" she asked Karellin, breaking the spell. Putting her hand on Maxwell's shoulder, she added mischievously "And my comrade here needs to see the restroom."

**Tollania, Capital of the Tollan Homeworld**

**Three hours later**

"They're dangerous"

"I'd concur, but for whom ? That's the million-talent question, don't you think ?"

And in the Tollan main currency, a million was a lot indeed. One could buy a sizable apartment with a view on the Imperial Gardens for such a sum. Or a small intrasystem shuttle.

The first speaker leant forward on his chair, reinforcing the gesture with a deep stare at his two interlocutors. His calm demeanor and controlled movements told of a mind used to thoughtful analysis of events and situations, and his almost-drab attire belied his actual status in the Tollan Empire, for he was the head of Imperial Intelligence, the secretive agency that kept tag on potential threats to his nation, from colonial resistance cells to hungry System Lords and their underlings. Its tendrils ran on the dozen Imperial-held worlds and, through the known network of stargates, a galaxy-spanning smatter of planets ranging from backwater agricultural societies to space-faring powers.

It was power and knowledge, but it had failed to predict the sudden appearance of a Goau'ld countermeasure to the Tollan phase-shifting technology. Nor had the Nox said anything, when asked about this, other than their usual lecturing about "peace" and "non-violence". Well that was easy when you could turn invisible to your enemies and resurrect at will. _Damn flower-heads._ And the Tok'ra were unreachable, as usual. They only called when it suited their own interests.

And now he was asked to give his professional estimation about the newly-encountered Drakas. Seconds passed by, uninterrupted by either men. They were watching him, although one kept his face as neutral as he did himself.

"They're… utterly confident" he eventually spoke, in his customary measured tone. "I have observed them from the moment they stepped out of our gate to the moment they left. They showed signs of interest, even curiosity, but above all they were observing everything around them in a similar way as I was watching them."

"How is that unnatural ? They're clearly experienced, professional people." the Senior Administrator objected. "Their government certainly wouldn't send naïve innocent children !"

The spymaster inclined his head, a faint concessive smile on his lips.

"Yes, that was naturally to be expected. However, I'm a fairly good judge of character, and I can read most people, as you know" his smile grew fractionally wider "and those people, even the civilian one… they're cold killers. Trust me on that." he finished, leaning back on the leather chair that was a clear sign of affectation on Administrator Aurelim's part when shape-contouring equivalents were readily available.

"Well, they were polite enough when I met them… I didn't feel any enmity or threat, only the natural reserve I'd expect from diplomatic envoys, but under this I found them rather friendly"

A short snort answered him. _Friendly ? Oh yes, I'd say your secretary found them so_.

The director of intelligence kept his face blank. _Yes, we all know she's your expensive fuck-toy,_ he thought sarcastically, then elaborated aloud. "This Maxwell fellow" he articulated the foreign name with affected precision "seemed to be very friendly with your personal assistant." He paused minutely, noting the flash of surprise in the diplomat's eyes. "And Administrator Elledia also seemed quite taken with Scholar Jackson. I suppose it is natural, after all. They're women and these Drakas have an undeniable... physical presence" he trailed, noticing his interlocutor's minutely tenser body language, although the response was dismissive rather than angry.

"So ? Our visitors are warriors after all. We all know how this type tends to impress young females" he ended with a sly smile directed at the third man in the room, who had until then remained silent and neutral, sitting rather stiffly on his seat.

"I wouldn't comment about that, Sir. I'm married" Commander Katallax answered courteously, drawing polite chuckles in return before the mood became serious again.

"You were the first to meet the Drakas, Commander. What's your opinion ?" Aurelim asked bluntly.

The uniformed man flexed his fingers together, his face pensive. "In my own opinion as a ground-fighting soldier, and keeping in fact the rather short time, they would be challenging adversaries - or allies. Their culture places a heavy emphasis on martial prowess, but unlike the Jaffas, they actually seem to use their brain as well. I'm not sure what to make of their technology - on one hand they've only just discovered naquadah, subspace theory and the possibility of faster-than-light travel, but on the other hand, they already use high-powered energy weapons and have learned to produce and harness anti-matter"

"That, and they're obviously farther along in genetic engineering" the spy commented. "My service ran a quick test on the DNA traces we recovered from them and I received the results before I came here. It confirms what they told us. The DNA from the soldiers has more chromosomes than the civilian's, if you could believe that !"

The look on his interlocutors was one of genuine surprise.

"Is there a possibility they were always a separate species ?"

"No" the intelligence chief shook his head "it's only a quick surface analysis, but according to my technicians, the genetic code is clearly a construct"

"Any way to know what the modifications do ?"

Another snort came from the spymaster. "Hardly. Our understanding of genetics doesn't reach that far. A whole DNA ? Especially a manufactured one ? Not unless we got help from the Nox and that's not their policy."

All three men reflected on the fact. While Tolla had made great strides in the comprehension of the universe's laws, aided in no small part by their reverse-engineering of ancient artifacts recovered from eons-old ruins, the living was another thing. Tollan science comparatively lacked in this area, although it was by no means primitive. After all, most illnesses were readily cured save a few rare ones, and Tollans generally lived long fruitful lives, often reaching over a century. Yet the Drakas were ahead. They even pretended that the unfortunate Renim's could be made whole again, without artificial prosthetics.

"Well, at least they didn't seem the least shocked that Tolla had conquered other worlds in the past" Aurelim commented a moment later. "That's refreshing, after dealing with the Nox and Hebrideans" The latter nation's mixed-species society had a rather dim view of imperialism, and told the Tollan representatives so when offered a defensive alliance against the System Lords. Relations were traditionally cool, though not hostile, between the two polities. The Hebridean Republic was content to rely on its own substantial war fleet to deter Goau'ld velleities of conquest.

The Draka representatives, for their part, had accepted it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, barely raising a comment. They'd appeared similarly unfazed when Aurelim had, a little reluctantly, explained in diplomatic terms how the colonies used to have a different legal status until every subject of the Empire became free citizens forty years earlier. According to their own explanation, such differences in personal status were not unknown on their home world, as they personally belonged to a "warrior caste" of sorts that took precedence over the rest of their society in exchange for leadership and protection. Which sounded a tad curious, given that Daniel Jackson wasn't a soldier by trade but a scholar of ancient history, until he'd made clear that he was considered the equivalent of a reservist.

In any case, the whole business hadn't made them any reluctant to pursue future relations with the Empire, which, to Administrator Aurelim's opinion, could only have positive consequences.

He rose up and addressed Katallax.

"Well, Commander, thanks for your time. And I may use your services again soon."

The soldier saluted and left the office, glancing on the way out at the decidedly attractive secretary outside. _Hey, if I didn't fear Erina's wrath more than a squad of Kull Warriors, I'd definitely make a pass._

After the door had closed again, the chief diplomat turned to the Intelligence chief, who had left his seat in the same fashion.

"So, Director Tresim. May I expect your cooperation on this or are you going to expound your professional paranoia to the Curia ?"

"Not if you agree to have one of my men in the delegation you intend to send"

"Director, you can't seriously advocate having one of your agents running around and spying on our potential allies ! Especially in a first exchange !" Aurelim protested. "What if he were caught snooping around ? Phase-shifting doesn't make you invisible !"

"I can assure you, Administrator, that phase-shifting isn't the only trick my people have. And whoever I'll send will be among my best, I promise you" the spy countered in a conciliatory tone, spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement. His interlocutor appeared slightly mollified, but not entirely satisfied. Tresim gave a small shrug and turned to leave.

"You'd better be right about this, Director Tresim." The diplomat shot at the spy's back, making him pause ever-so-briefly at the door's edge.

_I hope too_, was the thought in the retreating man's mind.

**Stargate Compound, Abydos**

**One day later**

"Tollan recognition codes received, Centurion"

Alan MacDonald nodded at the operator inside the command bunker. Right on time.

"Make sure the automated defenses are on standby. We don't want our guests to suffer any mischief, do we ?"

The other soldier sniggered. "If you ask me, Centurion, they're just Yoke-fodder"

MacDonald laughed, a short guttural sound. "Yes, but they're not supposed to know it yet !"

Inside the fortified ring, a Citizen tetrarchy in battle-armor stood on two ranks perpendicular to the active gate, while an entire century of similarly armored ghouloons formed a circle around it. They all made for an intimidating welcome committee.

Seconds later, the delegation from the Tollan Empire stepped out of the shimmering blue wall and came face to face with their Draka counterparts. As the wormhole dissipated, the Cohortarch in command of the assembled troops barked a harsh "Ten shun !", and a hundred forty heavy boots shook the packed ground thunderously. A second later, the "Present - arms !" order boomed in the enclosure, and the sharp clacks of rifles being brought to the present position echoed in unison.

Only then did Polignac speak.

"Welcome to Abydos"

"Merarch" Commander Katallax of the Imperial Tollan Navy (Ground Force) answered, stepped in front of the Draka officer and offered a raised arm and clicking heels salute. Sweeping his professional gaze over the assembled troops, he commented "Your soldiers look impressive, allow me to say. I suppose those" glancing at the nearest ghouloons "are the specially engineered shock troopers you mentioned ?"

"Indeed they are. Part of this facility's garrison, utterly loyal and fearless soldiers" Anton mentioned, allowing some of the pride he felt at the Race's accomplishment to shine through.

_Sounds a lot like Jaffas,_ the Tollan reflected. _But more impressive._

"Allow me to introduce the rest of our delegation" he gestured towards his companions, who had just stopped visually inspecting the arrayed soldiery.

"You already know Administrator Elledia" the brunette diplomat had sensibly exchanged her expensive dress for a more travel-friendly cream-colored long-sleeved tunic with silver highlights over matching pants and brown leather boots. Daniel Jackson's eyes caught hers and he telegraphed his own welcoming smile. He was pleased to see it returned. It bode well for his plans.

Katallax designated the next envoy, a middle-aged balding man in the same executive-looking suit apparently favored by Tollan officials, obviously tailored so as to conceal a stomach that was no longer flat : "This is Legate Agathes."

The man stepped forward and offered his extended hand to Anton and Daniel in succession. Although both Drakas restrained their pressure, it still felt very firm to the Tollan, yet to his credit he didn't show a sign of discomfort, keeping his eyes straight.

"I'm the Curia's special emissary, with temporary ambassador rank, which allows me to negotiate official agreements" he explained. "Naturally, those have to be ratified by the Curia to become binding"

"Of course" Anton replied politely.

"And this is my aide, Derrim"

The man in question was younger and fitter, with a air of focused professionalism.

_He looks remarkably at ease. He must be the spook, _was Anton's instinctive evaluation. _At least if the Tollan play the game as everyone used to do on Earth before the Final War_, he corrected himself. Derrim similarly shook hands with the two Drakas, and the Merarch allowed himself to press just a little stronger and longer, gauging the other man's reaction. His eyes remained dispassionate, but the fingers pressed almost imperceptibly tighter in reply. Anton released his hold. There was no point crushing the Tollan's hand, which he could do easily enough.

Rounding up the party were two Imperial Navy's servicemen in anthracite duty uniform, a dull silver pistol-looking weapon on synthetic belt holsters, wearing nondescript backpacks and pulling each a floating cart loaded with the delegation's impedimenta. The counter-gravity sustained devices drew a few curious stares from the present Drakas, who had also noticed the sleek devices worn by the Tollans on their arms. Those had to be wearable perscomps or communicators of sorts.

All moved out of the gate's immediate vicinity as it began to spin again, the absence of a Gate Dialing Keyboard and the occulting shroud on the circle's symbols making it impossible to guess the coordinates, a fact the Tollans noted with amusement. They didn't have to see them. The subspace beacon they brought along would mark their position in case it was needed, as well as relay any emergency message. In case things went very wrong, at least Tolla would know about it, even if sheer distance made a rescue impossible. But such a scenario was deemed unlikely.

The connexion was established, and the two Drakas led the way, gesturing for the guests to follow. "Be advised gravity's lower on the other side" Anton notified them before he disappeared through the water-like event horizon.

They emerged in the familiar spacious confines of Dante Base's gate room, where another honor guard waited for the following travelers. All of them negotiated the transition to Luna's light gravity without a hitch, and the floating carts didn't dart up, which indicated they were sensibly designed to detect and adapt to local conditions.

"And welcome to Luna" the Draka officer beamed.

"I feel… lighter" Elledia commented, jumping in place with the strength of her calves alone. It was strange how it took a trip to a place where synthetic gravity wasn't in wide use yet. In the Empire, gravity was corrected everywhere to match Tolla's standard pull. As a result, something as simple as what she was doing now hardly ever happened to most citizens unless they ventured themselves in the wilderness.

"Our moon's gravitation pull is a sixth of Terra's" Anton explained for the Tollans' benefit. "If you stayed more than a week, you'd have to take a medical booster-pack to prevent bone and muscle degradation"

"You actually developed medicine to counteract the effects of microgravity ?" Agathes inserted in the exchange.

"We had to. We couldn't use centrifugal gravity everywhere. We're not too far from producing workable gravity field generator, though, with input from our Goau'ld captive"

"Interesting." _If they're on their way, we might as well help them and get something in return,_ the Legate reflected. _One item for the future talks. _

"So you put your stargate on a satellite of your world" Katallax observed as the delegation was led through the concrete corridors towards the vehicle airlock. "Sensible precaution, all things considered"

"Yes, we deliberately put it in a remote location, just in case the Goau'ld try to rush through. But" the Draka grinned "we're certainly going to copy your shield concept, even if we have to use a more substantial barrier"

The Tollan commander chuckled. "Good idea, although the Nox will berate you if they hear of it"

"Why so ? They're those isolationist aliens, right ?"

"Precisely, but their point is, putting a shield in front of a stargate pretty much ensures that accidents will happen. Innocent travelers getting splattered on it because they didn't transmit an identification code"

"I see" Anton. _Well, tough luck for them._ Katallax seemed to guess his thoughts, as he went on : "It's not nice to the primitives who use the stargate network to trade, at least until the word gets through, but in times of war…" He shrugged, to which replied with an understanding nod.

In the meantime, Daniel Jackson had maneuvered his way next to Administrator Elledia and was working his charm on her person.

"You know, low gravity has all sorts of fun applications" he mentioned in a light conversational tone.

"I'm sure it does, Scholar Jackson" the reply came with a batting of her brown eyes and a hint of mischievousness in her silky voice.

"Please, call me Daniel. Scholar Jackson is so formal !"

The foreign woman grinned and patted his arm. "Daniel, then"

_Loki's stone cock !_ _She's as good as fucked already, _he smugly reflected, careful not to betray his thoughts by a leery expression.

"I'm sure you'll love body flying. It's one of Nova Virconium's main attractions" he went on, drawing a curious look from her.

"Really ? What is it ?"

"You wear a pair of light-weight wings and you glide, or actually fly, inside a domed crater. It's fabulous" he explained_ "_and usually followed by a sauna and massage."

"Sauna ? I don't know this word"

"Ah, it's a simple thing. It's a room where the air is very hot and and humid. Makes you sweat all the toxins" he elaborated, keeping out the customary nakedness.

"I see. We have a similar thing on Tolla, in the public baths"

_This meeting's shaping up really well, _was the last thought on Daniel's mind as the group reached the complex's main vehicular airlock. Until now, there hadn't been a human serf in open sight. That, the Drakas knew, would be the real test. The Tollans appeared a bit too tolerant for their own ultimate good, but their reaction when confronted to the Domination's "caste" system would tell whether the Race could worm its way into The Empire's beating heart, or whether it would have to fight an adversary it wasn't quite prepared to. A big gamble, but the Domination's history was made of such.

The five-minute trip to Complex A was, as usual, uneventful. The Tollans asked questions about the maglev car, and the suborbital shuttles parked on the landing pads. Whereas those were as crude, compared to the counter-grav vehicles in Tollan service, as a 19th century steamcar would look next to a Domination's modern aircar, they spoke of a high level of engineering and design expertise. So far, the Tollan delegation was impressed by the hardware and the people they saw, and the facilities were spotless.

Complex A, while retaining a no-nonsense, military look, was nevertheless different in atmosphere. Greater though had clearly been given to interior decorating, as the visitors noticed right after they stepped through the main airlock. Instead of drab naked grey ceracrete, the walls were painted in a two-tone pastel combinations, and artistic murals enlightened the corridors at regular intervals. The works of art seemed out of place in a military facility, even if they depicted starships and stations and exotic planetary vistas.

The group stopped at an intersection.

"Commander, I suppose you'd like to see your wounded man as soon as possible ?"

"Well, certainly, Merarch" Katallax answered. "If that would be convenient…?" he inquired the rest of the delegation.

"Go ahead, Commander. We'll settle in our quarters in the meantime" Agathes underlined his approval with a nod.

Polignac and his Tollan counterpart broke of toward the medical wing, while Daniel Jackson led the rest toward the guest quarters.

"By the gods, what have they done to him !" were the Imperial's first uttered words as he finally got a glimpse at Renim's grotesquely altered shape through the transparent partition overlooking the intensive car ward.

"It's really as bad as we told you" Anton observed in a sympathetic tone. Even though the man was technically a feral, a non-Draka, he could relate to the emotions Katallax was certainly experiencing right now. They watched silently as two orderlies finished the daily task of cleaning and renewing the dressings and took blood samples that would be analyzed to help adjust the regeneration treatment.

"Can I talk to him ?"

"Of course. You'll need to wear sterile coveralls, but there's no reason why you couldn't enter. He certainly will be elated at hearing a compatriot."

Five minutes later, the Commander was standing close to the patient's bed.

"Officer Renim" he began, "I'm Commander Katallax, 17th Ground Force Regiment. Can you hear me ?

The lying wreck of a man stirred and moved his head to face the direction the words had come from. At last, a Tollan voice ! The Drakas had made good their promise, he would hear and see his people again ! He had no words to express the joy he felt. It was as if another breach was made in the prison his mind was stuck into, his useless body and unseeing eyes. More than the doctor's promise of recovery, this made it tangible. He wasn't abandoned. Tolla was still out there. He opened his mouth to answer in his mother tongue.

"Commander" he articulated, talking no longer an effort in his elated state "you can't imagine how it feels to hear you !"

"I can only try, Officer, and I can't tell you how impressed I am by your courage. What you've been through…" he trailed, unwilling to put words on the graphic reality.

Renim's lips stretched into a tight smile.

"It was hard" he admitted freely, "but it seems the worst part is over now", he bravely finished, drawing a chuckle from Katallax.

"The Drakas told me they were repairing the damage to your body"

"Yes, unbelievable as it sounds - although it's not as quick and easy as a Goau'ld sarcophagus" Renim managed to joke. "It feels itchy most of the time, like small bugs crawling under the skin. Drives me half-mad, I ask the nurse to scratch me and she tells me she can't. I'll just have to endure it until it's over" he finished stoically.

"They told me you'd be able to see again in one month, but your arms and legs will take longer"

"Yes, about a year, although I'll be able to start using them before"

"Long time"

"Beats staying in this shape until I die, Sir."

He didn't comment aloud that the perspective of eventually making love to Apollonia again made it worth every discomfort and inconvenience in the meantime, but Katallax must have read his bio and thought the same, as he gently cleared his throat and added "Your wife was notified of your survival, by the way. Needless to say, she's impatient for your return." He was pleased to see the wounded man relax with a blissful smile, which however dissipated after a silent moment to leave an air of worry.

"Sir, the war… how is it going ? Did we push the Goau'ld back ?"

Katallax winced, fortunately unseen. There was no need to tell Renim the full truth. He didn't need any more concerns.

"The Empire's still strong. That wannabe god bit more than he could chew" he answered in a confident tone that managed to dissipate Renim's nervous look.

"Now you need to rest" he concluded, putting his hand on the reclining patient's shoulder, just over the bandaged stump, and squeezing gently. "and get your strength back. I'll visit you again later"

The younger man sighed softly.

"It feels so good to know you've come for me" had let out dreamily, to which the senior officer replied with a last squeeze.

"Hold on, son. You're going home, I promise."

The recently completed guest quarters were set into the crater's inner wall, so as to compliment their occupants with an exterior view. The wide transparent bays were thick and self-polarizing, with automatic armored shutters to protect them in case of emergency, but they still made for a nicer atmosphere than a completely buried suite such as most of the base's Citizen personnel occupied. Complex A was continuously growing and burrowing through the rock to accommodate more troops and researchers as well as the necessary serf personnel.

The Tollan delegation was to occupy five connecting apartments, Legate Agathes getting the largest as befitted his senior position, and the two soldiers sharing the smaller, which was still more spacious and luxuriously appointed than their Navy quarters. Of course, they didn't know that those apartments had been designed with Draka guests in mind, as the idea of foreign humans being welcomed in Domination territory as anything else than new slaves had until recently seemed ludicrous at best, traitorous at worst.

Even Agathes, a veteran of galactic diplomacy (as such things went anyway) had to admit those guest quarters were lavishly appointed, even if the decoration had a certain exuberance - as compared to the more subdued Tollan style - that made his eyes water. Especially the colorful paintings whose subjects leant heavily toward battle scenes and assorted martial representations, with true-to-life blood and gore, along with a smattering of scantily clad females in lascivious poses.

His own reaction was rather bemused. Elledia's was a blush. Derrim's was his customary impenetrable face. The two servicemen were enthusiastic.

"This is quite a place" Elledia commented, taking in her new surroundings, from the giant bed to the colorful Persian rugs and expensive furniture. Outside, the crater's dark expanse was dotted with the scattered lights marking the maglev line and shuttle terminals. The sky was black with unrecognizable constellations.

Daniel stood to her side, looking through the bay. "You should see Aresopolis, our city on the system's fourth planet. It's a lot more spectacular place than this"

"Aresopolis" the woman articulated the name with curiosity. "The word sounds… familiar somehow"

_Naturally, the Tollan language obviously draws from Latin and Greek among its main roots_, the scholar reflected. But mentioning this would also reveal the fact that Earth was a scattered humanity's home-world. Something the Tollans weren't cleared to learn yet, as it would undoubtedly make them even more curious.

"I suppose the galaxy's human populations must share distant origins" he ventured cautiously, and Elledia turned to face him with a look of interest.

"That what our historians think. We know that our species isn't native to Tolla, and the System Lords have displaced human slave populations for thousands of years. But we don't know whether mankind has evolved on a single original planet, or whether the Ancients seeded our ancestors around the whole galaxy"

"An intriguing idea" Daniel responded thoughtfully. "You have mentioned those Ancients before, and I must admit that you made me curious" Which was all too true. The hints he'd gotten already could revolutionize the established history of mankind, something that tremendously piqued his intellectual curiosity.

"Well, I'm not a specialist, but from what Tollan historians could research, the Ancients were an incredibly old and advanced species that disappeared tens of thousands of years ago. It is said that the early Goau'ld copied Ancient technology, which enabled them to establish their domination on most of the galaxy. Mind you, most of this comes from hints and allusions dropped by the Nox, and they tend to verge on the obscure and elliptical" she finished with a derisive grin.

"Fascinating" Daniel commented truthfully. "I'm looking forward to learning more about all this, but I suppose you want to settle and unpack first ?"

"Well, yes, and I'll have to consult with Legate Agathes. I suppose he won't need me for the whole talks, so I'll have time to try that wing-flying you told me about ?" her intent shone in her smile and eyes confidently raised to Jackson's.

"I hope so" The Draka had to make a conscious effort to keep his own grin from appearing entirely too predatory, and left the room with very pleasant visions swimming inside his head.

_The following day_

"So, what's the program for today ?"

Katallax was standing in the doorway connecting his suite with the Legate's. It was technically morning, according to the local timetable, and a new day of talks was to begin. At least for Agathes. He was the diplomatic envoy after all, and he would spend most of the day cooped in a conference room with his local fellows. Pleasant people, in his opinion, with sharp wits although they lacked his experience at managing interstellar diplomatic exchanges. On the other hand, he had to admit they possessed a physical presence that no sane practitioner of the art of foreign relations, with their seemingly endless rounds of sitting on a chair and sipping recreational beverages, should display.

More than the obvious caste distinction, which although quaint wasn't totally unknown in the galaxy (even apart from the notorious Goau'ld), it was the general level of physical fitness that amazed him. Having mandatory martial training was one thing. But the Drakas were the only culture he knew in which it was taken to such universal and almost frightening proportions. His two counterparts looked fitter than Imperial Navy Ground Force troops, and acted with the quiet confidence that marked them as professional killers. Yet they were negotiators, not active duty soldiers.

Naturally, he had to assume that he could only see a limited sample of Drakan population, one that was, given the context, skewed toward the military side. Well, in the future he'd certainly have the opportunity to experience the wider aspects of the host society. What mattered now was establishing whether they could be of help to the Tollan Empire.

The Legate picked up his jacket on the nearby seat. Thanks to the self-cleaning properties of the fabric, he didn't have to worry about laundry for the duration of his stay.

"Talks related to transfers of basic technology, subspace communications, artificial gravity and inertial compensation, in exchange for biomedical science - life-prolonging treatments, cures for various untreatable cancers, genetic screening, things like that" he answered the Commander, who nodded calmly, leaning against the hatch frame. After a couple seconds, Katallax shook his head and chuckled ruefully.

"You know, I'm slightly surprised the Curia actually considers such - especially so quickly after first contact. Granted, the Drakas have impressive biotech, but…"

Agathes made a little sly smile.

"I know, but the circumstances are different. They already know the theory for those - from their Goau'ld prisoner. I saw the files, they're sound and true. So there's no question that they'll eventually deploy practical applications, it's only a matter of time." He flicked his wrist for emphasis. "But our help can significantly reduce that time for them. Something they know, and after the first Goau'ld attack on their world, I'm sure they're eager to start deploying vessels that wouldn't be swatted like flies by a lone marauding Al'kesh."

He didn't need to elaborate on things the Drakas weren't supposed to know. Like how the Tollan Navy's own warships could only hold off an upgraded Ha'tak when in numerical superiority.

"What about you, Commander ? Hanging out with the Merarch ?" The question was rhetorical, of course. Katallax represented the military side of the Tollan delegation, and he was officially tasked with assessing Draka military capabilities. This meant formally reviewing their hardware and training, as well as informally "getting a feel" of his counterparts, since the formal side would most likely involve only the parts their hosts were most comfortable showing.

He nodded in acquiescence. "I'll be witnessing assault exercises in vacuum, on the moon's surface and on orbital installations. The Merarch promised I'd get to try one of their armored exoskeletons" he ended with a sly smile of his own.

"Really ?" Agathes raised an eyebrow as he fiddled with the clasps of his arm-mounted info-terminal. "I'm sure you'll have fun with that"

The gleam in the officer's eye was telling. _Like a child trying a new shiny toy, _Agathes mused silently. The man's interest was understandable. The Tollan Empire, by virtue of its orbital dominance, hadn't needed to put as much emphasis on its ground force's equipment as the largely planet-bound Drakas had. Well, to be accurate, there had been a time when Tollan armies were more impressive, back when space travel was still a "lost" knowledge and the disunited states of Tolla fought each other, more than four centuries ago.

In contrast, the local planetary unification had only just happened, from what he'd caught of Terran history, therefore the higher ground-side specialization and relative sophistication.

Another factor, which the Tollan were carefully hiding for the moment, was the impact of phase-shifting technology on ground combat. Quite literally, it enabled Imperial soldiers to walk through armor and fortifications. It was a huge cheat, Katallax reflected, and reliance on it had certainly made them more complacent than they should be. And now it was biting them in the ass when it came to facing the new model Goau'ld.

Both men's silent musings were interrupted by the quiet sound of a door sliding open, the one that connected Agathes' suite with the female Administrator's. They glanced in the noise's direction and returned her greeting hand wave.

"Commander, Legate"

"Administrator" Agathes returned, "You look good today" he added courteously.

"Thank you, Legate" her answer was courteous enough, with a hint of playful coquetry, after which she went on in a more serious, work-like tone. "Are you sure that you won't need my presence during the talks ?"

He shook his head. "I commend you for your concern, but I can hold myself" he grinned. "You have your own mission anyway, one that's arguably less boring than sitting in a conference room all day"

Despite her belonging to the Diplomatic Service, her task was less participating in the official negotiations than learning more about Drakan society and customs, mirroring Katallax' focus, but on the civilian side. As far as the "civilian" adjective applied anyway in this peculiar culture, with its martial aristocratic elite.

More to the point, she was to investigate the Drakan caste system and the way Citizens and Serfs interacted. So far, what they'd glimpsed seemed a relatively harmonious, if inegalitarian, relationship. Certainly not how the System Lords were renowned for treating their underlings. And truth be told, while the whole class distinction could seem old-fashioned to modern Tollan eyes, there had been a not-so-distant time when the Empire had treated conquered people in a superior and condescending way, rationalizing it with arguments such as "they're backward, dirty savages anyway". Such prejudice was still alive nowadays, albeit in a restricted and watered-down way, something most people were ashamed of admitting.

Elledia repressed a smirk. Her day was indeed likely to be anything but boring.

"Then I'll be visiting this moon's capital" she announced, keeping her face neutral and her gaze away from her compatriots'.

"With Daniel Jackson as a guide, obviously" Agathes commented innocently, and she returned an innocent stare of her own.

"Well yes, obviously. He can translate their language for me"

"Yes, he appears to be an expert linguist, doesn't he ?"

Elledia frowned minutely. Was it an impression or had the Legate put a tiny emphasis on "linguist", with the word's obvious connotation to the tongue ? Ah well. _Men_, she sighed mentally and voiced a studiously oblivious response.

"He does have an impressive command of our language, given his very recent exposure to it. In contrast, I'm barely able to recognize scattered words from our hosts' speech"

The later remark was intended as much for her interlocutors as for the Draka intelligence personnel who were almost certainly listening. The tiny disguised microphones were cleverly hidden, but the two soldiers included in the Tollan delegation had scanned the suites as soon as they'd settled in. It was routine, and finding surveillance devices (of varying degrees of sophistication according to the local nation's technological level) was routine too. It was part of the game, and they were used to work around it.

"Actually, I'll head out now. The sooner we're on our way…" she trailed and made a languid gesture with her upturned palm.

"All right" Agathes returned with a hand raised in agreement. "Have a good day, Administrator". He watched as she nodded in acknowledgement and left the room, the hatch closing after her, then glanced at the Commander. Their eyes met in silent reflection of each other's thoughts. Unmarried Tollan women weren't supposed to be chaste after all. And the mutual attraction between Elledia and the Draka scholar wasn't exactly unnoticeable. Well, she was still an experienced professional. She'd know better than letting her lust override her discretion, and Daniel Jackson's attraction to her could in return provide opportunities.

As it happened, the Tollans were soon engrossed in their respective endeavors, Agathes and his aide in the conference room and Katallax in the base's armory, where he started with a satisfactory shooting session in the adjoining range. Drakan chemical-fired weapons were a throwback to ancient times, but he had to admit they were more fun in a loud, brutal way, than ion-bolt rifles.

His subordinates were similarly mingling with (selected) Draka counterparts, but had the sense to decline a (half-serious) offer to spar in hand to hand combat, after witnessing a pankration bout involving two _female_ soldiers of all things. The fast and brutal exchange had suitably impressed them, and they consoled their slightly bruised ego with the fact that both women were genetically enhanced far over a normal human level. Nevertheless, they set to learn some of the moves, which after two hours of practice only brought barely hidden condescending expressions from their Draka instructors (who, to add insult to injury, didn't appear the slightest bit winded).

Elledia and Daniel Jackson had flown (or rather boosted away) on a shuttle. The short orbital flight was another experience for the Tollan woman. First, the shuttle itself, whose chemical thrusters and utterly inexistent inertial compensator contrasted with the sensation-less vehicles she was used to. And apparently the pilot had deliberately opted for a rather virile initial boost, no doubt to impress the foreign visitor. Well she had been impressed. Rather forcefully. In her seat, held in place by the very unfamiliar feeling of her own body weighting a lot more than it should (and did in the moon's natural low gravity). Fortunately it had been short, and she could resume breathing before she'd beaten her personal apnea record.

Then the small vessel had crested the horizon and she got her first view of the Draka home world in its distant blue-white majesty. This event she wasn't unfamiliar with, she'd seen planets from above several times before, including the Imperial core worlds Tolla and Serita. She could also glimpse the glittering orbital infrastructure in orbit. In terms of sheer size and number of visible installation, it appeared very decent for a civilization that didn't even use anti-gravity, although it came distant to the sheer size of her home system's larger artificial structures.

"Your people appear to use stellar power extensively" she commented to her escort, who was sitting on the other side of the central aisle and looking through his side's ovoid viewport. He turned in her direction.

"Among other energy sources, yes. It's basically free once you have fabricators in orbit and easy access to raw material. Along with nuclear fusion it constitutes the largest share of our total energy expenditure"

Elledia didn't reply, pondering Daniel's answer. The Empire had to be far ahead in terms of power generation thanks to its harnessing zero-point energy. A single (albeit large) power station on each core world provided all the energy they needed, which made things much simpler.

Eventually, the shuttle landed near the trip's first destination, the domed crater of Nova Virconium's main recreation center, the aptly-named Soaring Gardens. It was located at the sprawling city's periphery, and was an entirely civilian facility. Therefore, it had luckily escaped destruction in the Final War, a fact everyone who had tasted its activities was grateful for. From above, it looked like a domed bowl of green and blue, a vegetal oasis of life in an otherwise mineral lifeless world, one kilometer in diameter and two hundred meters deep in average. Rapid-growing trees made up its vertical landscape, spaced enough to provide clear flying trajectories for the visitors who launched themselves from elevated wood platforms on top and swooped above the gravel paths and water pools dotting the ground, supported by light gossamer wings.

"Oh ! That's beautiful !" Elledia exclaimed as the shuttlecraft's initial overflight gave her a bird's eye view of the artificial park. She was impressed not only by the material feat it constituted, but also by the factual testimony to her hosts' dedication to beauty and pleasure. Reconstituting a natural environment on an airless moon was a feat few civilizations bothered with, even those who had superior technology than the locals possessed. After all, with modern spacecraft, hopping down to an habitable planet was quick and easy. There was no need to replicate a part of the planet's natural environment.

Well, the lack of need elsewhere was understandable, but Elledia had to admit necessity had produced a remarkable result here.

"Trees grow fast and tall here" Daniel commented. "And we Drakas love greenery"

"What about light and radiation ? And how do you keep your domes from getting damaged by asteroids ?"

"Well, the cover material is a lightweight gel held in place by atmospheric pressure and a geodesic support frame. It filters excess radiation, and there's a reflector in orbit for the times when the dome's not directly illuminated by the sun. As for asteroid damage… it's very resilient to micro-impacts, and anything bigger's taken care of by perimeter defense"

"I see" the woman trailed thoughtfully. Lack of force-field technology didn't prevent the Drakas from building large vacuum structures and habitats. Another little fact to file away for her superiors.

Twenty minutes later, she was standing on top of a soaring platform, a hundred meters above the ground, while servants finished fitting Jackson and her with their wings. These were attached to a body harness, along with leg fins, and were currently retracted so as not to unduly restrict their movements. Daniel was translating the operating instructions for her.

"When you're ready to fly off, press this button" he pointed to the small flat control box on the inside of his wrist "and your wings will deploy automatically"

He demonstrated for effect, activating the command then stretching his arms aside. Excited by a small electric current, the memory metal forming the structure unfolded like a giant bat-wing origami, deploying their full translucent span. In this position, they were indeed an unwieldy thing to carry on the ground. When they were completely extended, he flexed them carefully to show Elledia.

"The kinematics are limited by the harness, so you don't have to worry about achieving the perfect movement. If you don't do anything, the wings will simply remain in the best gliding position. It's very safe, really, you don't have to worry about crashing," he told reassuringly, but the sheer drop was still impressive under their feet. Reduced gravity or not, the human brain wasn't programmed for jumping in empty air, and the Tollan woman teetered carefully to the edge of the platform. There were already flyers in the air, Draka Citizens from their athletic looks, and again she felt slightly-self-conscious of her own body in comparison. Especially since in a full-body flying suit whose sheer stretchiness didn't leave much to guess. She'd carefully avoided ogling , but she wasn't certain her guide hadn't. Ah well, when in town, do as the town-folks, as the old saying went.

She deployed her own wings and flexed her arms to try their range of movement. It really did feel like being a bird, she mused, then her eyes grew wide as Daniel grinned at her and jumped off. He didn't fall like a stone as her unfamiliar brain half-expected him to, instead dove to gain speed then swooped up with powerful arm strokes. In a few seconds he was back at the platform level and circling around.

"Come on ! See ? It's easy !" his shouted invitation brought her some more courage, and with a deep breath she sprang out, as if she were at the swimming pool. She resisted the urge to shut her eyes, focusing solely on bringing her body in the best gliding posture, and seconds later she remembered to breath again, marveling in the fact she was actually flying instead of tumbling down to the ground below. Nevertheless, she'd already lost a fair amount of altitude and trees were coming up fast in her field of vision. The corrective movement came instinctively. She flexed and pulled, straining her chest in a series of wing strokes, and tentatively banked into a gentle climbing curve. She found herself in control of her flight, realization at last coming to her elated mind. She was soaring like a bird, air rushing at her face and grinning without any self-restraint. She didn't notice her own whooping cries of glee, all her attention instead on the actual feeling of pure freedom she was experiencing.

She overflew the winding white gravel paths, green grassy patches and vegetal beds encircling the central pool with its complicated blue shape. She could see the small islands dotting the interior and the low bridges linking them to the shores, and… _Oh my, those people are making love !_ her mind processed the sight with a mixture of shock and embarrassment and she turned away, blushing furiously, leaving the shameless scene behind.

Where was Daniel Jackson anyway ? she asked herself with a little irritation she wasn't sure was directed at the frolicking people down there or at her own offended sense of modesty.

She tried to scan around herself, banking left and right to increase her field of vision. Fortunately, the flyers were scattered enough that she didn't have to worry about hitting another one. Which was good for her in more ways than she thought, as an offended Draka would strike her down instinctively, even before he remarked the serf-like physique and lack of a neck-tattoo that would usually identify her as a metic citizen.

Of course, any unfortunate encounter would also be managed very quickly by the Security Directorate agents watching her like so many hawks, as much for her protection as to make sure she didn't get any funny ideas.

She almost jumped out of her suit when Jackson slashed the air next to her, wings swept back and diving like a hawk upon its prey, a flash of grinning white teeth and golden-grey streaming hair. _Trying to play games, eh ?_ She bit her lip with resolution and dove after him. However, she quickly realized how stronger he was, as she vainly tried to chase his effortlessly evading shape. And more experienced. She didn't dare graze the tree-tops as he recklessly did, or roll inverted and dive away with a laugh.

Yet despite the small frustration, she felt free, alive and energetic as she rarely ever felt before. This experience was amazing. It beat the relatively banal thrills of zero-gee one could experience in specialty locations on Tolla. How come her people hadn't thought of something similar ? It was the pervasiveness of synthetic gravity, she reflected. It made them forget the possibilities that the Drakas had embraced despite or rather, thanks to their arguably inferior technology.

At length the friendly race ended as Daniel realized she was trailing lazily behind and circled back to fly alongside her.

"Tired ?"

She smiled back in admission and shouted back.

"Yes !"

He nodded. That wasn't unsurprising, she was far from a Draka's level of fitness, and her muscles wouldn't be used to the motions of wing-flying. He made a "follow-me" movement with his head.

"Come on, we'll land !"

Normally, landing was a more tricky procedure than jumping off a soaring platform. Ploughing down face first on the ground wouldn't hurt too much, at least not in the physical sense, but there was fortunately another way of doing it when you were a beginner and the Draka demonstrated it, gliding down to a splashing halt in the water. Before he had time to splutter, a pair of serfs waded in and helped him upright so he could retract the ungainly wings and wave at the Tollan still circling above.

Elledia watched him, took a deep breath, and plunged, slowing down as much as she could over the surface before she deliberately splashed face-first in the water. It was as well the attendants were there, for trying to move her arms in the water was nearly impossible. She doubted she would have drowned given the shallow depth, but she was still relieved when the two helpful men pulled her out, before bowing and stepping back respectfully.

"It's nice to have servants" she caught herself observing aloud. Her guide made a bemused face, then laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Which, in a sense, it was, but not for the reasons she imagined.

"Yes, yes, is it not ?" he chuckled back, clearly amused. The Tollan's… oblivious naïveté was all the more entertaining, considering how she and her people were fated for the same condition. Eventually.

"Let me help you with that" he added, pointing to her fumbling with the now-useless wing harness.

Elledia stood still, arms outstretched, while he expertly removed the clasps keeping the assemblage attached to her already dry body-glove. He didn't try to touch her inappropriately… yet his closeness brought another warm feeling to her and she fought back a blush. Damn it, she wasn't a teenager any more !

She put a confident smile on her lips and planted her hands on her hips.

"So, what now ? More exotic and breathtaking Draka customs ?"

"Depends whether you'd call unwinding exotic and breathtaking" he chortled back and stretched languidly. "Let's head to the main recreation block" he offered and stood aside, arm pointing away in an invitation to go.

Leaving the discarded wings for the attendants to pick up, they bouncingly made their way to the low regolith-and-wood building standing close to the shore, with a stilted terrace over the water where scattered patrons, Citizens and their intimate serfs, lounged under sun and Earth light. A secluded table waited for the pair, where they'd be far enough from other Drakas, at least those who weren't SD personnel pretending to be ordinary patrons.

"Tell me, Daniel, how long did it take your people to build this ?" Elledia asked over the colorful drink that contained as much sugar as alcohol, although the former hid the later.

"Two years from first dig to opening, though it took longer for the trees to reach their current height."

"Hmmm. Well, I'll say it again, it's impressive"

"For people who don't have the fancy space technology you've been bragging to us about ?" Jackson chided her, getting a apologetic laugh in answer.

"I wouldn't dare think that…" she started mischievously, before her expression relaxed into neutral seriousness. "Despite your lack of certain technologies we're used to taking for granted, your people do seem very resourceful. I think, without betraying any secret, that an agreement between our nations is very possible. They both have things the other lacks"

Across the teak table, the Draka nodded.

"I'm sure they do. Personally, I'm looking forward to knowing you more" he stated with an utterly straight face. It helped that in the Goau'ld dialect, the translation of "you" had the same level of ambiguity as it did in English.

"Well, so do I, as an administrator in the Imperial diplomatic service…" she left her other, less strictly professional thoughts unsaid. While she was mature enough to face her attraction for the handsome man in front of her, it wouldn't do to look unduly weak, she reasoned.

If only those skinsuits weren't so tight ! Ah well. Everyone else wore the same, it wasn't as if she should feel unique. Everyone but the servants, she corrected herself. Not that their clothing was any less modest as a rule, but then it usually complimented them. She had to wonder…

"Tell me, Daniel, are all the serfs so well-treated ?" she made an encompassing gesture, "Here I see them looking happy and well-fed, but how should I know the Drakas are better than the Goau'ld ?" _Oh damn, this came out a lot more bluntly than I intended. But I need to know. The Empire needs to know. _

She looked at Jackson closely. If the question had unsettled him, he didn't show a sign of it. That infuriating self-restraint those people were capable of !

The archeologist-turned-ambassador remained silent and thoughtful for a moment. A tricky question indeed. In the old times, the answer would have been simple and direct. Brutally honest in fact, followed by a very practical demonstration, usually.

Unfortunately, present times were different. Those Tollans had to be deceived and coddled - until they were ripe for the Yoke.

He allowed himself a shrewd lopsided smile, blue gaze locked to Elledia's.

"You mean, how do you know we won't eventually follow in the Goau'ld's steps and try to enslave the galaxy ?"

His forthright answer achieved the intended result, putting the woman out of balance, as evidenced by the slight widening of her eyes, and he pushed on.

"I'll be honest with you, Elledia" _as much as I possibly can anyway_ "we Drakas are a conquering race. It's in our blood, the need to expand and yes, dominate, hence the name of our nation." He put his hand up to stave the woman's upcoming questions. "Yet, we are not the Goau'ld" he drove every word in. "We are conquerors, but while we ask for absolute obedience from our subjects, we also give back a fair bargain. Hunger, disease, violence - we make those disappear. We reward those who act well. We Citizens might be at the top of the ladder, but unlike the Goau'ld we are also prepared to fight and die for those we rule. In short, we are an unabashedly aristocratic, with all the perks and duties that come with the status."

He straightened his back and drank a bit. Elledia waited for him to continue.

"As for your unsaid question - whether Tolla should feel threatened by us - well, ask yourself who should feel threatened. You have vastly superior numbers and your space technology has the upper-hand. We should be the ones fearing an invasion" he finished with a grin.

Elledia nodded slowly and thoughtfully. It sounded like a honest reply, that she couldn't deny. And he had a point. The Tollan Navy could mount an invasion of the Solar System… well, if the Goau'ld weren't currently pushing inward. And if the Draka home system wasn't years away at best hyperdrive speed.

"Besides, we have a common enemy, one that controls the majority of the Milky Way. My language has a saying, hang together, or hang separately." Daniel had to explain the word play, but Elledia caught the meaning and it obviously made her think, nose up at the Earth overhead. Finally, she lowered her face and caught Jackson's gaze again.

"I believe you're right" she stated in a low pensive voice.

Her interlocutor shone a wide friendly grin.

"Well, I don't know about you, but my back's aching after all that flying around" a lie, but she didn't have to know that, "shall we head to the sauna ?"

The sauna was… interesting, and not a little troubling, for the Tollan woman. The small, dark, and unbelievably hot room with its wooden surfaces was a novel experience for her. She knew the northern, colder regions of Tolla had a similar custom, and it was fascinating hearing Daniel explain the similar origin on Earth, but a born and bred Tollania urbanite, she'd never come close to it.

She was sweating profusely, sitting on the scalding bench with a thick towel to protect her skin from burning, but the protection it afforded didn't go so far as to shield her modesty either. Compared to the Drakas, all of them sitting or lying with utter lack of concern for their nudity, she felt silly with her tightly crossed legs and arms clasped over her chest, trying her best to look at ease and probably failing to. At least they were not watching her… well not conspicuously, her subconscious corrected.

At first she had really hesitated, standing with the towel wrapped around her, then Daniel had obliviously spread his and laid belly-down on it. Almost against her will, her eyes had darted to the round and muscular butt before she'd firmly set them away with a stern inner call to reason. She had felt everyone's eyes turning on her, the intruder with the soft body and lack of neck-tattoo, eyes filled with curiosity and barely-hidden lust, and she'd decided that standing up like that made her look even more conspicuous. Therefore she had quickly undressed and sat close to her guide, and the gazes had eventually lifted away. Yet, she felt like the subject of every low conversation, something she reasoned was largely the effect of her own paranoia, and had consequently forced herself to relax.

The heat and humidity did the rest. It was hard to remain taut when you felt your inner strength sapped by the oven-like atmosphere and every breath seemingly made you melt a little more. After a few minutes in the sauna, Elledia was slumping like everyone else and hardly noticing her own nudity any more. She didn't even care whether Daniel was ogling her or not. In any case, she'd have to turn her head to check, and she just didn't want to move.

_That's something we need to develop on Tolla_, she mused idly. _Although I'm not sure I really want to see my work colleagues naked,_ she thought wryly, which put in her mind the unwelcome picture of the Senior Administrator Aurelim and his slut of a "personal secretary". Not that the latter was unpleasant on the eyes, something which she confessed with a dash of feminine jealousy, but the former definitely was of the "balding, middle-aged, with a paunch" variety.

She glanced furtively around at the Drakas of all ages, well, from young to older adults. Men and women exhibited the same kind of athletic physique. Even the grey-haired coupled across the room, she couldn't help glancing at them surreptitiously. Although lined, their skin didn't show the signs of decrepitude, still firm over an exercised musculature. In fact, Elledia noted, the woman's breasts barely sagged, which was just unfair.

_If their medical knowledge can explain that, then by the Ancestors we need to trade with them !_

Her musings were interrupted by the displacement of warm air made by Daniel sitting up and she turned her head just as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Massage room's waiting for us"

"Huh" she shook her head to dissipate the fog clouding her mind, "yes, all right"

She rose up with him and stepped away. Seconds later, just as they exited the room, she realized two facts with a little trepidation. One, she had left the towel behind. Two, the Draka's arm was wrapped around her back and she didn't even mind. She closed her eyes and shook her head minutely. _Oh, you silly girl_,she chided herself, adjusting her pace to her host's.

_Oh, you silly wench,_ Daniel's mind reflected. _Just you wait a little more !_

The massage room was smaller, more intimate, adorned with tapestries and multicolor rugs, the main feature being a raised slab of black marble supporting two thin cotton mattresses covered by thick towels of the same type they'd worn in the sauna. It was obviously intended for two persons side-by-side. The air was fragrant with burning aromatic smoke and whiffs of perfume. The whole setting reminded Elledia of the upper-scale beauty-care institutes she used to visit in Tollania, with a difference. Here, there were no less than four attendants waiting obediently, all of them female, attractive and fresh-looking in their short multi-hued tunics, and a further three, older and darker-skinned, sitting in a corner with objects Elledia recognized as musical instruments.

"Ah, errr" she began, to be interrupted by Daniel pulling her confidently toward the waiting divan. She had no choice but to follow and imitate him as he laid down face first. She heard him give a command to the waiting servants, and strained her gaze aside to see what was happening.

"Just relax and enjoy" Jackson winked at her, and she did so, her head turned aside in her companion's direction. She smiled shyly. She could see his naked body and so could he, but it didn't seem to matter any more.

The four girls set smoothly into activity, while the three musicians started playing, a soothing tune of strings and slow drums that brought her mind almost immediately to a deep state of tranquillity. She didn't flinch when two pairs of oiled hands started to work on her, one starting on her shoulders and the other at her ankles, rubbing and kneading her sore muscles. Eyes closed, she surrendered entirely to the deep strokes and applied pressure points, her body like dough under the baker's hands.

All at her enjoying the treatment, she only belatedly noticed her own moaning in reaction to each deep powerful rub of her calves and thighs while two other sets of fingers expertly unknotted her sore back. It went on for what seemed like hours, her mind torn between the urge to sink into sleepy contented oblivion and the desire to savor every touch, every stroke. Even the hands vigorously massaging her buttocks didn't feel out of place at all. From time to time, she opened an eye to watch Daniel receiving the same treatment, idly and guiltlessly following the hands tracing endless circles on his muscular body.

She didn't even feel surprised or shocked to realize that she'd very much like to add her own hands to the tactile ballet taking place before her eyes.

Eventually the four palms caring for her paused and invited her to turn over. She obeyed their call and rolled on her back, allowing them to resume their work. In this position, she had a better look on the four girls and took a perverse pleasure in detailing them. Their skin tones ranged from the dusky to milky, with features that varied accordingly to present a delightful visual medley. And although Elledia had never really been attracted to other females - mainly, she reasoned, because they'd all been potential rivals before - here she could unabashedly revel in the knowledge that all four were only here to pleasure her, that it was their duty and their role in this peculiarly alluring Draka social order.

And revel she did, moaning aloud in delight as the massage began to take a brazenly erotic turn. Strands of soft hair caressed her like so many fragrant feathers as connected hands danced and twirled on her chest and thighs, coming closer with every motion to her most erogenous areas. They took their time, playing and teasing and making her want them closer, yes, here, up like that, no, come back !

She closed her eyes and bit her lips as two sets of fingers finally twisted around her nipples, just like she wanted them to, and suddenly she had to gasp and open her eyes again and arch her back as the stimulating fingers down below reached her closest intimacy. An exquisite and perfect storm of pleasure converged on her from every extremity, and she cried shamelessly as the music reached her beating crescendo, feeding and sustaining the orgasmic waves flooding her brain.

She laid motionless for a while, catching her runaway breath, and when she finally opened her eyes again, the sight greeting her was Daniel Jackson's taut body above her, poised and grinning like a conqueror, his own gaze boring on hers. She returned a willing smile and raised her hands to his shoulders in silent surrender.

A deep thrust later, the Tollan woman's subjugation was complete.


	15. Chapter 15

And after a time that probably felt far too long, here's the updated and completed chapter 15. AT 25K words I think it's the longest yet.

Of course, I expect some comments and reviews ;-)

**Chapter 15**

**Dangerous Liaisons**

**Science Directorate Special Report (excerpts)**

**Classified**

(…)Experimental development of high-power particle beam and laser weapons integrating Energium/Naquadah (Nq) based improvements : _Anvil_-based prototype successfully tested. However, use of anti-matter as weapon output not currently worth the added complexity… Recommend AM to be prioritized for propulsion, power generation, and warhead applications.

Naquadah-based regenerative cooling and power- solutions can be retrofitted to existing weapon designs at a relative minimal cost, yielding a tripled effective output according to conservative estimates. Such upgrading of our main Cis-lunar defenses can be achieved in the order of six months, complete refit of every ship-grade weapon in-system can be achieved in roughly one year. These upgrades should be granted the utmost priority considering the level of threat Goau'ld ships pose to the Domination's survival.

(...)

Series production of Type XIV aH-Nq warheads initiated in October this year at a rate of two per month. Explosive yield projected at 4 Gt. While impressive, it also makes it rather dangerous to use close to our own, unshielded, installations. Furthermore, an adequate delivery method has yet to be selected.

**Tollania**

**26****th**** November 2010 (Earth Calendar)**

Few among the Empire's citizens knew the building's nature and the identity of its occupants. Not that it were actually a secret, rather, most people didn't bother checking. Why should they have ? It looked perfectly ordinary, a 100 meters tall oval cylinder of mirror glass and metal, not remotely among the highest or more remarkable urban structures, and lacking any exterior sign that would give a clue to what it contained. If one looked attentively, he'd see the tell-tale occasional shimmer of a protective force-field, which wasn't a rare feature either. Other security measures were concealed among the manicured bushes and flower beds shielding the ground level from the street, and the private car traffic was slightly higher than normal for an office building of its size, while few of its workers ever seemed to use the nearby mass transit stations, but really, nobody cared about it.

Which was exactly how the people inside liked it, for it was the Imperial Tollan Intelligence headquarters and its personnel thrived in obscurity.

Director Tresim's agent entered unseen from any exterior observer through the underground parking access, after a short anonymous trip in an ordinary grey aircar (although grey was merely one of the colors its skin could display). There was a first identity check, involving the full gamut of biometric tests, then a second, and a third on the way up, all standard procedure, to which the agent submitted with patient acceptance, before the door to the Director's office.

The room was hermetic, while an exterior view of the city could be seen on the side wall, it was an holographic projection, although one would be hard pressed to tell the difference. It was shielded and protected against every known form of remote snooping, as befitted the function of its occupant, who remained behind his desk as the triple-layer doors slid shut behind the visitor. He waved toward one of the empty seats, and the agent sat down, legs crossed and elbows supported by the narrow armrests, in a posture of relaxed attention.

Tresim caught his visitor's eyes for a moment, finding them to express the agent's customary expression of calm alertness, and flexed his fingers together. The sound of knuckles cracking was loud in the otherwise silent room. The agent didn't show any visible reaction, waiting for the Director to speak first.

As usual, he was straight and to the point.

"I've read the official reports - yours and the Legate's" he began in a measured voice, "but I want to hear your own, unofficial, impressions… Administrator Elledia"

The brunette woman smoothed the hem of her skirt, mentally composing her reply.

"My impressions" she repeated, batting her eyelashes at the Director "are… mixed, shall we say"

"Mixed ? That's not the impression I got from the reports." Tresim raised a single eyebrow. "Legate Agathes sounds positively enthusiastic, although one has to read it between his cautious, diplomatic lines, and your own account shows the Drakas in a rather favorable light"

Elledia took a short intake of air, straightening her posture. "Yes. They are very seductive" her lips twisted in a sly smile "in a very personal and intimate way too."

Her interlocutor chuckled as he got the implied message. "Somehow I'm not really surprised to hear that, although you were the one supposed to use your charms on them"

The woman's gaze turned aside and unfocused, a slim smile on her face as memories of her three-day sojourn in the Domination came back. Good memories, truly. The massage room had only been the beginning, and the following times had pushed her far beyond whatever limits she previously had. It seemed she'd spent more time on her back, on her knees, and variations thereof, than sitting or standing up in a normal fashion. Oh yes, she'd learnt a lot, but most of her newly acquired knowledge was more fit for the restricted sections of the Tollan Global Datanet than for public, err, consumption.

Not to mention how blissfully exhausting was the Drakas' incredible stamina - males and females alike, or how sore her inner regions still felt four days later.

She bit her lip to banish the particularly vivid memory of herself being the center of attention for no less than three male, and two female partners - all of the Drakensis sub-type, Daniel Jackson excluded - with a smattering of serfs of both genders in the background. The various love bites she'd gotten were also the reason she wore a high collared jacket.

She shook her head, ending the short recollection. Tresim was waiting for her to elaborate if his faint smile and slightly tilted head were any indication.

"Precisely, they're just too seductive. I almost lost my wits out there, they have a way to make one go lust-crazy… I suppose it's a combination of their utter lack of sexual guilt and, well, incredible good looks"

The Director nodded, eyes vague, remembering the Drakas' initial visit.

"Yes, yes, they do exhibit a powerful personal charisma, don't they ? But I doubt the Curia would take that as enough of a bad thing to prevent furthering relations"

"Hmmmm" Elledia pinched her lips in reflexion "there's that, and more generally the kind of… social model they're showing us"

The spymaster's face tilted up.

"You're alluding to their masters-serfs division, right ?"

The woman nodded. "Precisely. And the way they actually seem to make it work - well, compared to the Goau'ld and the other class-based societies we know. You see, it is very alluring, and were we to develop trade and exchange, I could see how the Draka way of life might end up attracting some elements of Tollan society"

"The ones still nostalgic of the pre-franchise era, you mean" Tresim's reply was more a comment than a question.

Another nod of agreement. "Yes. In a way, what I saw of the Domination's society could be taken as how Tollan society might have evolved, had the universal franchise movement not won the political debate decades ago."

The man crossed his arms and leant back in the warm leathery expanse of his chair, gazing pensively at the shiny gunship replica poised on its spindly support leg, as if boosting off the desk's varnished wooden surface.

A moment later, he spoke up, not detaching his gaze from the graceful chromed model.

"I have petitioned the High Chancellor to send covert intelligence probes through the gate, hidden in our next exchange." A sigh, and his gaze switched back to the woman's face. "Unfortunately, he refused, arguing that should the Drakas catch a hint of their presence, it would certainly cripple future relations, and in the Empire's current external situation, we can't afford that either".

A glance at the holographic exterior vista, showing the sunny surrounding Tollania skyline. Its magnificence didn't hide the fact that in the current balance of power, a determined Goau'ld assault could very likely cause extensive devastation in the Home System, or worse. The Empire needed to come up with a counter to the upgraded Ha'taks. There was no doubt in the Director's mind that his nation's scientific establishment was up to the task, but it all depended on time, time he wasn't sure they had, and the worst-case contingencies were little more than wishful outlines right now. He could understand the Chancellor's standpoint, but his own professional paranoia screamed for more facts. What they knew of the Domination's past history was sparse at best, and obviously selective, even though that was hardly abnormal. The Empire did likewise, after all.

"Well, in any case the Curia's voted in favor of, I quote," his hands mimicked the Tollan alphabet's quotation marks "exploratory joint military operations against the Goau'ld" he spread his hands down on the desk "after Commander Katallax' shining report."

Elledia's eyes narrowed minutely. The officer's had indeed waxed lyrical about their new relations' military prowess, arguing how devastating they would be against Jaffa armies and in boarding operations, something Tollan troops had trouble adapting to. She remembered how the man's delighted face had amusingly reflected her own after their first respective "discovery" day. She still wondered whether the married man had managed to remain faithful to his wedding vows. His two subordinates, she had fewer doubts, after witnessing the two serf-girls exit their suite giggling and holding crumpled tunics under their arms. _Soldiers._

"And you are to continue acting as informal liaison with your Draka counterpart, this Jackson fellow. The Curia apparently thinks you've done a good job… interacting with him so far" Tresim added, almost mischievously delighted at her surprised look.

"I… I didn't know that" she managed to blurt out, slightly flustered.

"Well, it's my job to learn those things before everyone else, isn't it ?" came the rhetorical retort. "I assume you're up to it, aren't you ?" The Director's question ended just a little bit teasingly.

Elledia breathed in and straightened her head, returning Tresim's gaze confidently.

"Yes, Director"

"Very well" he stood up, leaning on the edge of the desk. "I won't hold you up any longer then, Administrator"

She bowed slightly, acknowledging the end of the meeting, and turned around to leave. Before the doors opened, she heard Tresim's voice again.

"Elledia ?"

She paused in place and gracefully glanced over her shoulder.

"Yes, Director ?"

His light frown met her minutely widened gaze.

"Be prudent, will you ?"

She held his gaze for a couple of respirations, then nodded minutely, the small twinkle in her eyes echoing the way a corner of her mouth had twitched upward.

"I will, Father" she said simply before she left.

**Unnamed star system**

**90 LY from the Tollan Empire**

"Stupid cunt !" the being in golden regalia snarled with an expression of fury, his eyes flashing in the characteristic way of an angry god. "I told you to bring me Chorrelian brandy, not Chulak ale !" he spat out, punctuating every word with a harsh twisting tug on the offending slave's hair, whose elaborate coiffure was now ruined along with her composure. Her face was forced down, her gaze submissively cast at the throne's footsteps, doing her best not to worsen her case. She had committed a sin and whatever punishment her God would inflict would be justified. She forced back tears of pain and shame. Upon realizing her mistake, she'd reflexively knelt and prostrated herself at her Lord's feet, but He'd reacted faster (as befitted his divine nature), grabbed her head by the hair, painfuly pulling her up, then slapped her twice violently. She could taste now the coppery taste of blood on her lip. The taste of failure in doing her god's bidding.

Eventually the hold on her red mane was released. Nevertheless, she remained in her bent position, joined hands in her lap in the position of supplication and atonement, waiting for the remainder of her penance. She felt the gazes fixed upon her, burning her with additional shame. Her Lord's elite warriors were witness to her failure and they would not forget it. There was no way any remotely worthy Jaffa would be interested in her as anything but an object of contempt, certainly not a potential wife. She swallowed back sobs.

"Clean up that spill before you leave"

Her eyes darted back and forth, from the raised throne to the discarded goblet lying in a wet puddle.

"Use your tongue if you have too !"

Her humiliation couldn't be more complete, it seemed. She scuffed her way on all all fours, red-faced under the mens' mocking mirth, and swallowed whatever pride remained in her along with the burning liquid, lapping it from the polished metal floor. It was her first taste of alcohol and she had to fight back her gag reflex, so foul the thing tasted to her unaccustomed tongue. At least she completed her duty and skittered out with the empty goblet.

"Now" the god-being let his features relax minutely "where were we ?"

He paused for drama, and his lieutnants knowingly remained expectant.

At last he smiled genially. "Oh yes. Discussing whether we'll slaughter all the Tollans after we have shattered their defences or merely kill the men and enslave the women and children."

The Jaffa officers arrayed around him allowed themselves to mirror their god's smile.

**Dante Base**

**November 28****th****, 2010**

"You know, I didn't think you would actually pick a planet randomly"

Decurion Rayner's eyes were stuck on the spinning stargate, even though her remark was addressed to her commander standing at her side. Polignac's gaze didn't budge from the ring either.

"Randomly out of addresses not on the list of Goaul'd occupied worlds provided by the Tollans" he commented evenly.

"Yet the probe found itself in a dusty Goaul'd temple dedicated to some old Asian goddess of love and fertility"

"Yes. Interesting, isn't it ?"

"You don't sound all that surprised"

"My dear, we're traveling the galaxy using wormhole devices left there by an advanced civilization thousands of years ago. If we allow ourselves to be surprised by the smallest things…"

Rayner's lips formed a minute smile even as the seventh chevron engaged and the galaxy-spanning connexion established.

"Anyway, the probe didn't find any trace of recent activity, so we probably won't find ourselves under fire as soon as we step out farside" Polignac concluded just before they walked into the event horizon, followed by another pair of suited and armed Citizens.

"Well, you were right. Nobody's firing at us" Rayner observed.

They were in a dark square room, only illuminated by the soft glow coming from the spider drone's welcoming them in front of the stargate. The little machine had diligently scouted and mapped the place as far as it could, that is, up to the pair of three meter high clam-shell portals constituting the only visible exit straight ahead of the stargate.

Polignac and Rayner immediately went there while the other two soldiers took positions next to the dialing pedestal.

"And here's the command panel, I suppose…"

"Looks dead"

"Good thing we learned something about Goaul'd circuitry then. Give me some light"

The decurion focused her flashlight on the dusty wall panel where stone keys inscribed with Goaul'd lettering lay inactive. Under her attentive gaze, Anton used his multitool to probe the panel's sides, then pry it loose from its fittings. Once the protective panel was down on the floor, he bent to peer at the exposed optical circuitry. Drawing from the knowledge gained by the Domination's scientists and technicians dismantling and reverse-engineering of captured Goaul'd hardware, he identified the main components and the way they were supposed to interact. It was a fairly simple thing, after which he attached an self-configuring optical line at the place where external inputs ought to go. The semi-smart material automatically adapted itself to the Goaul'd crystalline data conduit, and the connexion was finalized between the alien control device and the Draka's specially configured perscomp.

This left only the matter of power, or rather the lack thereof. Rayner frowned slightly.

"You know, this facility doesn't seem that old, and naquadah power cells are pretty long lived"

Anton gave her a sly look and pointed at a spot in the bare panel.

"That's because the power source was removed. See this empy emplacement ? Perfect fit for a standard small Goauld power cell"

"So whoever left this place last didn't want anybody else to come back and see what's outside ? Could it be something dangerous out there ?"

"I don't think so. We didn't see a single warning and it's a pretty poor safety measure anyway." He paused to think, and spoke again a couple seconds later. "It looks more like a way to keep casual, low-tech travelers out."

Rayner chuckled. "So, no telepathic, madness-inducing, flesh-eating monsters waiting for us ?"

"Unlikely", was Anton's short answer, as he removed a small package from a pouch and shed the content from its protective envelope. "Brand new Domination-built liquid naquadah power cell" he commented, placing it carefully and checking that the connections were just right.

"This little thing could power a decently-sized household for years" the female Draka remarked. "Hard to believe"

"Too bad we didn't have it before the Final War…" Polignac flicked the small switch on the Earth-built device. "And… _fiat lux !_" he declaimed just as the panel came to life. Light coursed through the crystalline circuitry and a golden glow appeared from the ceiling, coming from recessed luminaries.

"It's alive !" Ann Rayner exclaimed in mock wonderment, eyes laughing unseen under her faceplate. Her superior slowly turned his head toward her, feigning a disappointed posture as well as the feature-hiding armor allowed him. She put her hands out. "All right, I'll stop nagging you with obscure quotes from my favorite horror books !"

She didn't sound sincere at all.

Anton started to tap his perscomp's keyboard. "Was that from Lovecraft ?" he asked idly.

Ann shook her head negatively. "No, Shelley"

"Ah, yes. Frankenstein, I suppose ?"

She nodded.

"You know this book was commonly viewed as a metaphor of the Domination, don't you ? Better not mention that you like it in front of some no-fun headhunter"

She shrugged unworryingly. "Like they read any books !" They snorted together and Anton continued. "Anyway, I like Lovecraft better. He emigrated to the Domination after all." He paused his tapping, glanced at the panel, then back at the extended flexible screen of his perscomp.

"Loved the movie version of _Nightmare in Black_" he added absently.

"Ay, those deranged jungle-bunnies were fucking unsettling"

A chime sounded, coming from the control panel, and the doors shook themselves out, dust accumulated for years falling out lazily. The bronze-like panels started to pivot out, allowing daylight to come in.

Rayner and the two privates had their rifles at the ready, aiming at the outside while their commander's fingers hovered over the keyboard, prepared to command the closing of the gate if needed.

He didn't have to. Nothing rushed inside except fresh air scented with the green smell of vegetation. The pair of soldiers walked past the open portal, where they were greeted with the Drakas' first glimpse of this world. And it was dazzling.

From their perspective, two tall, curved, golden walls framed the door they had just traversed, spreading out just like the sides of a triangle, their apex being the portal with its two convex panels opening outward.

Rather bemused, the two officers followed them, craning their necks. The golden mass seemed to continue upward, above the exit.

Rayner whistled. "Loki's balls, that's real genuine gold ! Look at the spectrographic return !"

Her observation was true. The four Drakas were surrounded by a small mountain of gold.

Anton commented dryly. "Well, this is worth the trip. Let's see what's at the end of those walls."

Walk they did, stopping where the thinning gold walls ended in flaring vertical structures. Just after this, the platform they were standing on made way to stone steps descending all the way to ground level, which in the visitors' estimate laid about five stories down. The steps seemed to encircle the whole structure, acting as a monumental stand for the gold construction overlooking a wide plain, or rather a very broad valley surrounded by distant hills. The building, or temple, seemed to stand in a central position as befitted a god's dwelling, with a commanding view of the forests and fields scattered all around it. Supernaturally keen eyes could spot other buildings here and there, none closer than a mile, as if respecting some kind of invisible limit. Interestingly, most of those small buildings, houses and huts from their look, seemed to be in a state of disrepair and abandonment, walls and roofs crumbling, green vegetation reclaiming the space.

Further away, an hour walk for a normal human, a village stood in the middle of still cared-for fields. Minuscule black dots, invisible but for the Draka's augmented vision, were moving slowly. People.

"Peasants." The merarch's observation was neutral.

"From the look of things, not a flourishing community" Rayner added. From their vantage point, it was obvious that human settlement had contracted to this single village, leaving out isolated farmhouses to crumble and former fields to become forest again.

"Ah, Commander…" one of the soldiers interjected. He was staring back the way they'd came from, peering up at the dazzling gold mass. Both officers imitated him. An instant of realization later, it took them all their self-control not to gape in disbelief.

"Oh" Rayner uttered at last. "Oh. That's just priceless"

Here at the end of the platform, they could actually make out the overall shape of the structure.

Standing, or rather laying before them, was the gigantic golden statue of a naked woman. What they'd took for walls were actually her spread legs, prolonged the other way by her semi-reclined torso, supported in the distance by pillar-like arms and terminated by a colossal head, face upturned toward the sky in the same way as her magnified breasts.

The soldier's head slowly tracked down, staring at the place they'd exited the statue's womb.

Fighting snickers, he finished his comment.

"Look, we just came out of her cunt !"

_Fifty years earlier_

"High Exalted Lady, your fleet has achieved orbital superiority" the senior rank Jaffa announced with pride, head bowed and down on one knee as befitted his goddess' warriors.

The goddess in question sat still and poised on her ornate throne, her back straight, her entire figure loftiness incarnate from the haughty beautiful face down to her immaculately red-painted nails, resting on the seat's golden arms. Her head rose almost imperceptibly higher, allowing her to gaze down from under perfectly arched eyebrows.

"Is that so ?" She deigned responding. "I would have expected nothing less."

The Jaffa's head bent even lower, his eyes fixed on a point just below his goddess' sandaled feet. He wouldn't dare catch even a furtive glimpse of the smooth unblemished legs, crossed in an achingly graceful way that would let anyone daring to look with an unrestricted view all the way up to the top of her bare thighs, where the pale flesh disappeared under the rich red and gold silk.

None of the Jaffas and servants dared, naturally, for they all knew the price to pay for such impudent behaviour. It would be the very last thing their eyes would see.

"We can proceed to rain fire on the traitors, High Exalted Lady"

The Goau'ld appeared to think for a few seconds. Eventually she spoke, in a honey-smooth voice that belied her wrath.

"This would be a much too gentle fate for those who turned their worship away from me. Their souls will burn for all eternity, yet I will not allow their death to be so quick." She pursed her lips in cruel delight. "No, they will curse their betrayal every day of their remaining life, for they will live - yet they won't."

She uncrossed her legs and stood up in a fluid movement. She addressed her followers, one hand on her hip, the other extended horizontally in front of her. She rotated her wrist, turning her palm upward, and the kneeling Jaffas stood up, faces still looking down and away from her figure.

"I command you to sweep down and slaughter the last enemy warriors on this world, yet spare the people. I want them all captured and brought forward to my temple, where they will await their punishment"

"Your will be done, Exalted Goddess"

She flicked her wrist dismissively and the Jaffa officers took their leave, never once laying their eyes upon her, as was the rule.

_Now_

Four armored Drakas silently crossed the flat ground between their place of arrival and the distant settlement, walking alertly at separated, irregular intervals, scanning their surroundings with their own heightened senses and their armor's sensors. So far they hadn't detected anything suspect. There were still questions.

"This here soil looks fertile enough to sustain a larger population, even at primitive levels of agricultural knowledge, and some of those plants around look like grain crops" Anton agreed with Rayner's statement over the wireless. Although the fields they were traversing were long overgrown with wild vegetation, there was no mistaking that several species shared a remarkable similarity with Earth-born grain, and a plantation-raised Draka could easily estimate the yield of those. An estimation made easier by the current season obviously being the local summer. "So why such a small apparent population ? Some plague, do ya think ?"

The merarch mulled over the facts for the time it took them to move a dozen meters.

"They were cut off from the stargate too. I honestly don't know what to make of it all. Could be disease, could be anything else" He shrugged. "Whatever, we'll soon learn it"

Eventually, they came into full view of the village. Until then, they'd remained unspotted, although they didn't actually try to hide. Apart from a couple of small deer-like creatures, no living being had challenged their progress.

As the four explorers reached the fringe of the clearing, both privates fell behind, melding with practiced competence into the scenery to act as spotters and backup, while the officers went forward, rifles held across the chest in a relaxed but ready posture.

At last, their sight drew some reaction for the inhabitants. Cries broke out and the locals started to assemble in ranks just outside of the last houses with evident haste, some of them, probably old and frail, helped by others. The two Drakas were now close enough to make out details. The welcome party seemed to consist, predictably, of poor peasants, ragged discolored clothes, dry limbs and emaciated faces, people who toiled hard and ate little. There was something else, too.

"I'd say every inhabitant's gathered around" Rayner observed "make that forty-eight bodies, coherent with the size and number of buildings." She voiced her question aloud.

"So where are the children ?"

_Fifty years earlier_

The goddess stood tall on top of the high stairs, framed by her oversized self cast in gold. A line of Jaffas guards in gleaming mail occupied the steps two stories below her, staff weapons held at present, hardened eyes watching like hawks the field below and the captives, gathered, shackled, and kneeling, surrounded by more Jaffas. The enemy warriors were already dead to the very last, killed in the aftermath of the landing or sent fleeing through the stargate for the luckiest ones, to spread tales of their ignominous defeat, bleeding foreheads skinned of their ritual tattoo proof enough to prevent lies.

Only the men and women and children of this forsaken world remained to await their doom.

Not a single Jaffa was allowed to look at the goddess. The vision of her body was a sight only permitted to the blessed, or the damned. So they stood facing away from her, watching instead the traitors who had cast away her worship and joined the cult of her enemy. Blank faced, they'd separated the grown-up men from their companions and offspring, uncaring to the pleas and tears and whimpers. Both groups waited now. Some of the men had refused to kneel, and the Jaffas had gleefully broken their legs to make them compliant. But the warriors didn't care if the vanquished cast eyes on the goddess, for they were condemned and should drink freely the sight of She whom they had offended, before their lives were taken and their souls joined everlasting torment.

And such a sight she was indeed. A goddess of love, beauty, and fertility, her carnal envelope was appropriately perfect. Those men whose lives were forfeit could freely drink her beauty and feel the flame of desire burn in their mind, while women could look and weigh the chasm between their mortal, flawed bodies and the goddess' eternal youthful splendor.

She stood erect, haughtily offering herself, reveling in the stares from the lowly doomed creatures at her feet. Yes, she thought, let them see, and regret.

At last she pointed an imperious finger down, and spoke arrogantly, her voice magnified by her divine magic.

"Jaffa ! Bring me the man who doomed his entire people, the leader of this hopeless rebellion !"

Two burly warriors sprang into motion, crossing the space between themselves and one of the kneeling men. Grabbing him under the armpits, they lifted him on his feet and started to drag him up the stairs, other Jaffas stepping aside to let them pass.

The goddess watched the small group. Her warriors had their gazes carefully averted, but the man stared at her defiantly. Middle-aged, bearded, strong limbs and features. The leader of this community. A zat discharge had put a stop to his resistance hours earlier, for he was too precious for the Jaffas to simply subdue him by breaking his limbs. He would receive a personalized retribution from the goddess he tried to betray.

At last he was before her, sneering openly between the two warriors whose head and eyes were turned entirely sideways. She allowed herself to feel satisfaction and excitement, yet didn't show it. Her face retained the same expression of barely interested disdain even as their gazes met. Her eyes flashed brightly, and the man flinched, adding to her pleasure. Yet his gaze remained locked onto hers.

"I'm not afraid of death" he stated forcefully.

The female god cocked her head minutely and replied in silky sweetness.

"I believe you." She smiled, revealing pearl-white teeth, and raised her right arm in a languid, controlled flourish. She savoured the brief flash of expectant trepidation in the man's countenance, ans smiled wider, like a lover. Her delicate fingers twirled gently then settled on his jaw, running a feather-light caress. Worldessly, her other hand followed, tracing the line between his neck and shoulder, drawing goosebumps on the bare skin. She ignored the grime and dust, fingers dancing a perverse tease on the traitor's proffered chest, eyes boring into his without respite, daring him to show weakness.

The subject of her peculiar torment attempted to shake himself free, loathing the sensual touch that threatened to defeat his will quicker than days of torture would have done. His efforts were to no avail, so strong was the Jaffas' grip on his arms, his shackled feet forbidden to kick away.

The goddess of love sensed her captive's coming defeat. She wanted them all to witness it, see how her divine beauty could make any man pliant clay in her hands.

She stepped closer, bringing her own body, naked save for a couple of magical jewels, almost in contact with the man's. She continued her tactile caress, drawing from her deep knowledge of human physiology to send waves of delicious shivers. He was stirring at last, yet she decided to give him additional encouragement. In a sudden lunge that left him no chance to resist, her mouth locked onto his in a hungry kiss, sending her tongue to probe and lick. Exultantly, she felt her unwilling partner surrender to her invasion and respond in kind. He was ready to receive his penalty.

Her right hand, the one bearing the gold and gemstone glovelike instrument, slid down and settled onto his expectant manhood. Her divine power channeling into the device, a warm glow extended from her hand right into the sensitive flesh. She felt him gasp in her mouth, as pleasure above anything a mere mortal could experience washed over him. It grew stronger and fiercer, blanketing every nerve of his body in orgasmic fire for what seemed like eternity, until his brain was overwhelmed.

Her open lips, still locked tight onto his, finally welcomed the traitor's last breath.

_Now_

Arriving to a new place and finding the locals already prostrated before them was a very pleasant experience for any Draka. Even though both officers had the nagging feel that it was all a case of mistaken identity. They didn't look anything like peasants, nor Jaffas. Which had to make them god-like, they suspected.

They stopped a few paces from the first sprawling bodies and Rayner drew on his Goaul'd language skills.

"Who here is responsible for your community ?" He made sure that his voice was appropriately and unnaturally deep to complement his commanding attitude.

Someone stirred in front of him. A face turned up, not quite looking at him. A female voice, old and weary, answered.

"I am, my Lord"

"Look at me"

She did and Polignac got a full view of his interlocutor. A crone, although she might be only the equivalent of fourty terran years for all he knew. Wrinkled skin, withered features that looked vaguely asian with a flattish face and slanted eyes, weathered by summers spent in the fields.

_Well she isn't going to win any beauty contest,_ he reflected.

"Your fields look well cared for" he commented. It was as good a way to begin the interrogation as any.

The crone nodded reflexively, clearly fighting the urge to grovel at his feet. The scent of fear, coming from all of them, was almost intoxicating.

"Thank you, my Lord. We do our best" she paused hesitantly "but our numbers are dwindling" she drew a quick breath "as, as the Exalted Lady so desired" she ended her sentence and almost buried her nose in the dusty soil in her haste to show submission.

Anton caught Rayner's subtle shift and the message it conveyed. _Looks like there's an interesting story here. _

"I see that your people and yourself are repentant for the magnitude of your sin. Say it so"

"We are, my Lord. Ever since our Exalted Lady dispensed her punishment on us my people have been cursing their own folly"

"You cannot find true remorse unless you duly expound your fault" Anton insisted. "Do it in front of your lords. Confess your past sins and feel the magnitude of your crime. Maybe if you show true penitence the Exalted Lady will grant you her pardon" _Fuck, I sound like the goddamn pope. Except he's dead. _

"As you wish, my Lord." The old hag drew a deep breath, still on all fours, her mouth barely a centimeter above the bare ground.

"Oh woe the day our weak minds were seduced by the treacherous words of our then-leader… We strayed from the righteous path to fall into heresy, we turned our backs on the Exalted Lady…!"

_Fifty years earlier_

The goddess inhaled the man's last breath, savoured the taste of her personal victory. His defiance had been for naught. In his last moments, he was hers again.

The spent husk of a man slumped between the two supporting warriors and the goddess took a step back, licking her lips voluptuously, and made a dismissing gesture with her right hand.

"Let this world's feral beasts dispose of this body."

"By your command, Exalted Lady"

Both Jaffas turned around and started down the steps. They would dump the traitor's corpse away from the temple. There was no need to sully this sacred place with the foul stench of rotting flesh.

Once they were gone, the female-looking Goaul'd swept her gaze over the man's captive fellows. She read the shock and fear on their faces and, most importantly, the realization of her power. It was so pleasant, almost physically so. There was nothing more exciting than power, she reflected. And her human host was so attuned to pleasure, so receptive to sexual arousal. She - as the Goaul'd mind fully considered itself a female after centuries spent impersonating a goddess - had chosen her latest vessel well. The girl's natural beauty was enhanced by the symbiote's power, curing any imperfection down to the most minute. And so she reveled in the power it gave her over men as well as fellow Goauld's of both male and female incarnation.

She strutted down the steps, making sure to put the right amount of graceful sway in her hips, her nakedness highlighted rather than hidden by the delicately wrought golden threads cascading on her body and hugging the flesh in every move. She stopped just over the line of Jaffas, a picture of nonchalant beauty and exquisitely negligent poise.

Her voice rang again, loud and clear for all to hear.

"People of Tianxa" she intoned. "You have failed me, your goddess, thinking the weak Zipacna would protect you. Your lapse of faith allowed your dead leader to convince you of that preposterous notion. Of course he was wrong. I, Chiang-Mu, do not look well on heresy and my divine might will punish you appropriately."

She paused to let her words sink in.

"You have betrayed me, the goddess of beauty and fertility. It is therefore fitting that your community shall wither and die."

She smiled cruelly, ignoring the wails and supplications coming from the women below.

"You will not ever again know the joy of bearing offspring. Your lines will die for lack of descendants. Nobody will remember you and tend to your home altars. Your personal deaths will be definitive."

The goddess extended her right arm, pointing over the male group.

"Jaffas ! Make it so those men cannot ever father children again, nor pleasure their women !"

Gasps, shouts and cries of despair resounded. Women crying for mercy and men begging forgiveness, music to Chiang-Mu's ears. She pounded on, turning to address the wailing women.

"From this day on you will curse every night of your remaining life that your wombs will remain forever barren ! Weep in the knowledge that your children never will grow up to become parents themselves !

She retracted her arm. "Such is my decree !"

Done with her judgment, she turned her back on the damned and strutted back to the statue's inner sanctum, a controlled grin on her lips.

Behind her, cries of despair became screams of agony as sharp blades wielded by stone-faced Jaffas started the grim job of castrating every adult male and prepubescent boy.

_Now_

As the Tianxan woman finished her story, Anton couldn't help being impressed by the perversely elegant curse devised by the Goau'ld ruler. It was a bit too drawn-out and needlessly wasting to his Domination taste, but it sure sounded appropriate from a goddess of fertility. He was still bemused that any sane ruler would let a whole planet go to waste, untended. Well, another reason why Drakas should be masters and nobody else.

Of course, that left the question of what to do. Planting a Domination flag and declaring the planet to be under the Yoke was tempting… but reckless, since they had no idea of Chiang-Mu's power. The natives were worthless, too old to work and procreate. In fact, putting them out of their misery seemed to be a downright mercy.

As to the world itself… he'd recommend setting up a discreet monitoring station and be done with it for the near future.

He was still mulling over the choices when his tactical display received a notice from the drone left near the stargate. _Incoming wormhole._

He didn't have to warn his subordinates. They were receiving the same data. Instead he checked that the drone was stealthed. Stuck on the gateroom's ceiling with its mimetic skin set to imitate the color and texture of the material around it, there was scant likelihood that whoever was inbound might spot it. In the case of Jaffas, he didn't need worry that they might use electronic snooping either. Therefore, he could watch the real-time video feed from the giant hollow statue.

Seconds later, from the vantage point of the upside down spider drone, the placid blue shimering surface was disturbed by shapes exiting it. Jaffas. In ranks of two, they stormed into the chamber, staff weapons held level, their attitude clearly showing they weren't here for a routine visit.

As more and more warriors disgorged on Tianxa, the Draka officer came to a decision.

"People of Tianxa" his voiced boomed Goaul'd-like. "Your time of penance has ended. The goddess, in her infinite kindness, has decided to grant your souls respite and safe passage to the afterworld. You are not to suffer a single more day in the mortal plane"

_I can't believe I'm saying this bullshit with a straight face_.

He caught the looks of hope and surprise from the assembled peasants. On a corner of his tactical display, updates from the dropped sensors showed the column of Jaffas, now counting almost a hundred warriors with more still exiting the stargate, stream out of the temple grounds and toward the village. There was no time to lose, and the villagers needed to be silenced. Quickly and decisively. Fortunately, there were only fourty-eight of them.

But he had to make sure their "goddess" wouldn't be able to ressuscitate one using a sarcophagus, and at the same time leave as little hard evidence of the Drakas' involvement.

He drew out his blade, followed by Rayner. The withered crone's eyes widened in realisation, then she shook her head with resignation. She addressed her fellows with fatalism.

"My brothers and sisters, more than once we have asked for a release to our plight. Many of us have taken ther own lives in those years of penance. We have to accept our fates and thank the goddess for her mercy"

"Bless the goddess" a chorus of crackling voices answered in unison, some more hesitantly than others. Yet none seemed decided to resist their coming death. So much the better, Anton thought.

He walked next to the village elder, still prostrate, and bent, knife in hand. She made no effort to delay the inevitable, instead exposing her throat. For the Draka, it was a matter of grabbing a hold of her hair and sliding the mono-edged blade across her neck. It was so quick that she only realized it when her blood started to gush out in pulsating jets, and her attempts to breath failed to bring oxygen to her lungs. Anton supported her head as she gasped and thrashed feebly, the puddle of blood tainting the earth red. It wasn't the only puddle spreading under her as well, as his sense of smell told him. He was used to this.

At last the body went limp, and he let her lie down gently, a little show of compassion as he closed her eyes.

Only fourty-seven to go.

Five minutes later, he surveyed the scene of carnage. The two Drakas stood over the slaughtered villagers, their armor slick with splattered blood. The stench was thick now and flies were already clustering over the gaping wounds, busy laying eggs. A spectacle the soldiers knew only too well.

According to the tactical sensors, the Jaffa column was half-way there. It was time to dispose of the bodies. With augmented strength, carrying two bodies at a time and throwing them inside the nearest huts wasn't very difficult. A first dwelling was soon filled, then a second.

"Just pack them in tighter" Aton commented as he wedged a frail-looking woman between the inner wall and the stacked bodies inside.

"Does it look like I'm arranging a display ?" Rayner quipped back, using her hands to push in a pair of legs that were sticking out of a window frame.

"We should be watching the grunts do this instead of the other way around" she added. The snickering reply came instantly. "Nah, with all due respect, we're fine back here. Besides, we're watching for incoming dumb alien warriors"

"I'll kick your ass back in the base"

"Sure you will, Ma'am !"

"Can it, we're done here" Polignac interjected.

The two village shanties were filled to the brim with dead people, and the two oficers sprinted back to the privates' position.

The Jaffas were close now.

"And now for the fireworks" Anton produced a remote control, flipped the safety cover, and pressed the red button.

A fraction of a second later, the thermal charges placed inside the huts at regular intervals activated. Next, the temperature inside the improvised oversized ovens climbed by thousands of degrees, and flesh started to boil and melt. Soon, what had been people became a bubbling mass of carbonizing organic matter disgorging thick greasy pillars of smoke, unimpeded by the vaporized roofs.

The smell drifted to the first Jaffas even before they could see anything but the black columns in the sky. It was enough to make them gag, but they repressed the natural reaction and pressed forward, faces grim with renewed resolve. Something was definitely amiss there.

"The fucking temple must have sent a signal when you reactivated the circuitry"

"I checked it for an emitter, there was none !"

"None you could spot, then. It's not like we know everything about Goaul'd technology !"

"Right. Well, we're out of here. The Jaffas are spreading out, we'll punch through them and sprint to the gate"

Rayner and the two specialists nodded, checking their weapons yet another time.

Two seconds later, the movement started, each officer paired with a private, one pair sprinting forward while the other provided overwatch.

The first Jaffa to make contact didn't see the bullet that shattered his skull. The second one suffered the same fate, while a third had time to glimpse a kneeling form, almost blurred against the background. Then his own brain matter became part of the scenery. Seconds later, the Draka squad was past the collapsed bodies. More warriors rushed in from the sides, shooting in the approximate direction where they thought their adversaries to be. Which was far from the mark. Return fire, on the other hand, was as accurate as it was restrained, the Drakas only bothering to shoot at the Jaffas closest to them and more likely to achieve a lucky hit.

It became a shooting race to the statue, where the Earth soldiers' superior speed and accuracy gave them an advantage, carving a bloody path on their way. By now, every Jaffa was aware of the presence of an hostile force and the warriors belatedly converged back to the point they'd came from.

"Clear path to the temple. Move, move !"

Their scattered sensors gave the Drakas superior tactical awareness. Assuming, of course, the Goauld's didn't have a surprise lying in wait. But the drone feed showed a handful Jaffas guarding the stargate.

Five of them standing on the monumental steps collapsed in the span of a second, and the four soldiers climbed unimpeded to the statue's level. Two more Jaffas rushed out of the oversized gold labia only to be cut down by merciless fragmenting bullets.

"Clear"

Rayner and her partner bounded to the gateroom. As she started to key in the coordinates for an empty surveyed world, the first wave of running warriors broke out of the woods. Immediately, they were greated by suppressive rifle fire.

"Shit they're not stopping"

Anton lobbed two grenades in quick succession. Two explosions culled the advancing front. More came in sight and plasma fire washed over the defending Drakas, the sheer mass making up for the lack of accuracy.

"Getting hot here"

"Open wormhole !" Rayner barked back.

"On the way !"

Disengaging from the firefight, Polignac and his teammate leapt into the immaterial surface after their comrades. At the other side, nothing but an expanse of empty sand greeted them. Rayner started to dial another address as soon as the connection shut down. Two more hops should make it virtually impossible for their pursuers to track them down, or so the theory went.

An hour later, the foursome was back on Abydos.

At the same moment, a very annoyed Jaffa leader was trying to come up with a report that wouldn't make him lose his balls.

**Alliance flagship **_**Resplendant Glory**_

**Tianxa system**

"I want to know who did this !"

Lord Yu's ancient, wise-looking face remained impassible. By now, after decades of cohabitation, he was used to his partner's occasional tantrums. Chiang-Mu's beautiful face was contorted in a mask of rage, but at least she had stopped screaming and toned down to mere yelling. He mused that his calm demeanor must have finally rubbed off on her. To start with, she hadn't ordered the news-bringing Jaffa killed on the spot. She might have gotten around to that if he hadn't preemptively told the warrior and everyone else to leave, though.

This also meant that he was alone to withstand her fury.

"My dear" he started in an even, soothing voice "I will do everything to find out the culprit and bring them to you. But we need to think, not succumb to mindless rage"

"I'm not succumbing to mindless rage ! I'm in perfect control !" the screamed reply came instantly. "I want whoever trespassed on my planet and interfered with the _shol'vas_' fate brought to me to receive their just punishment !"

In Yu's opinion, his lovely wife was overreacting. In the grand scheme of things, a few dead peasants and Jaffas was nothing. Yet he had to agree there was something disturbing in the report : the description of the enemy fighters, who sounded nothing like Jaffas and more like those accursed Kull spawn of Anubis.

But why would Anubis waste those precious soldiers on something as unimportant as Tianxa ? Sure, it was close to the front-line, but there were worlds of more strategic value nearby. Maybe he just wanted to piss off Chiang-Mu, in which case he'd succeeded, but that wouldn't do him any good. Despite a few setbacks, the Alliance's latest general offensive was successful, several key system had fallen back in the free System Lords' hands.

Losses were heavy, as expected, but ships and warriors would be replaced. One could also argue that a handful of defeats were an opportunity to weed out incompetent commanders… such as that fool Dhakhan. The clown had proven himself unworthy of command, and lost the Exalted Lady's support… to Yu's immense satisfaction. He'd been wary of the younger, more boisterous Goaul'd's obvious interest for his partner. He smiled inwardly. Now Dhakhan wouldn't be challenging his position any more.

The ancient System Lord's face relaxed as he recalled the day when the defeated Dhakhan was forced to report his failure. His Goaul'd peers, those who had survived the Bellenos disaster, had made sure he wouldn't conveniently forget the way to Yu's throne room.

There the dark-skinned Goaul'd found a seething Chiang-Mu, who appeared determined to offset her former support. She found a very proper punishment too.

The symbiote Dhakhan was forcibly removed from its host body (causing the death of the commandeered human, but who cared about _that_) and inserted into a new form. A form who was female and barely pubescent. Yu was almost tempted to send the newly incarnated Dhakhan to one of the Jaffa brothels, but the being was still a Goaul'd, and some things just weren't done. One couldn't allow Jaffas to feel in any way equal to a god, even a failed one. That was too much of a slippery slope.

Fellow Goaul'd on the other hand were fair game, and a number of them, especially the survivors of the Bellenos operation, had been taking turns since inside the chamber where "lady Dhakhan" was held captive. Every time, the screams of pain heard outside left no doubt about the things happening inside. The symbiote's healing power were evidently put to the test to repair the tears after each rape session.

Lord Yu was pulled out of his recollection when the angry goddess stopped her pacing right in front of his throne and bent toward him, putting her hands on the seat's armrests. Her eyes bored at him and flashed brightly.

"Are you listening to me ?"

He met her gaze rather than ogle the cleavage hanging before his eyes.

"Of course, my sweet" he smiled crookedly, "I was thinking of the best way to avenge this outrage."

She studied his face, then composed her features. "And what is your decision ?" she asked in a falsely placid voice.

"I will have my best agent investigate the case" _although there are much better ways to use such an asset,_ he didn't add.

"And then ?"

"And then we'll act appropriately. What more would you have me do ?" _Bash Anubis' head with my cock ?_ Yu colored his answer with a hint of irritation.

The scantily dressed young woman inhaled sharply, then straightened up, putting her hands on her hips, and opened her mouth to reply. Before words could escape her lips, however, the deceptively old looking System Lord sprang up from his sitting position. Now towering over the smaller female, he frowned severely.

"This is enough. I won't have a minor incident overtake the much more pressing issues of the war !" Flashing eyes underlined his determination, and Chiang-Mu relented at last, realizing that pressing the subject wouldn't be worth it. She bowed curtly, a girly pout on her lips.

"Then I have affairs of my own to attend" she declared snobbishly, before she turned on her heels and strode out of the room.

Yu watched the doors close after her provocative swaying hips and muttered under his breath.

"Women !"

**Tianxa, planet-side**

**The evening**

The dozen Jaffas guarding the temple room tensed as the stargate activated. They'd been told to expect it, nevertheless they were wary. The memory of the one-sided skirmish was fresh, as well as the unbearable spectacle that had greeted them at the village afterwards. Even though the people of this world were _shol'vas_, amply deserving death, such fate as had befallen the small community was vile indeed. It was, as many of them whispered, even above the usual level of barbary to be expected from the minions of the foul Anubis and his gaggle of sycophants.

Others just brushed it off. It was war after all.

A single silhouette emerged from the wormhole, shrouded in a long travel cloak. The figure stopped a couple paces from the stargate, and scanned his surrounding clinically. The Jaffas took the opportunity to detail the visitor as well, their staves held unwavering and ready to fire. They couldn't see much, the brown cloak effectively obscuring the body, face obscured by the hood blocking the dim light of the temple, the only source of illumination save for the stars visible outside. Slowly and deliberately, as if to appear unthreatening, the newcomer's hands went up and removed the cowl. Beneath, brownish hair cut short topped a tanned face, its features displaying none of the distinctive racial traits that were common among the galaxy's human population, appearing instead to mix and mash elements from all of them in a final product that would seem nowhere truly out of place and everywhere unremarkable.

The only memorable characteristic was the brief golden flash in the visitor's eyes, marking him unmistakably as one of the god race, before he spoke in deep, commanding Goau'ld.

"Jaffa. You may sheath your weapons, for I was sent by your god, Lord Yu, to help uncover the mystery behind the attack on this world".

The lone Goau'ld watched the warriors uncock and raise their staff weapons with a detached air. If he'd wanted to, he could have killed them all from the instant he'd stepped from the wormhole, and they would never had known what befell them.

But he was here to learn, not kill. Not yet.

"My Lord" the senior Jaffa announced "as ordered, we have left the scene untouched." He added, a moment later "It is a most disturbing one."

Yu's investigator allowed himself a small humorless smile.

"Whatever it looks like" he stated "I've seen worse already."

Striding out of the chamber past the side-stepping warriors, his cloak billowing theatrically behind him, he emerged into the clear night. Fishing out a band-like device from under his cloak, he put it over his eyes. Instantly, the darkness was lifted, replaced by a slightly washed-out view of the world outside. He wasn't going to let something as trivial as night delay the start of his investigation after all.

On top of the reconstituted scenery, additional data was displayed from the various sensors worn on his person. Thermal traces, material oddities, weapon signatures were as many clues attesting to the tell-tale smears attested to the Jaffas' abundant firepower, albeit scattered all around the top level. He stepped closer to the statue's left foot and ran his hand on one of the scorched, bubbly scars made by staff fire on the solid gold.

_I bet Chiang-Mu didn't like her likeness marred in such an unaesthetic way_.

His sensor glove provided him with the chemical and physical analysis of the wound. There was nothing abnormal here. He'd seen many similar before.

He retracted his hand and walked to the place where the enemy warriors had made their stand according to the Jaffas' testimony. Again, he ran his hand all over the weathered stone.

Now there was something. Chemical traces, of artificial manufacture, yet nothing like what his species and its client races used. Those were molecular residue from the combustion of deflagrating compounds… He smiled again. Most Goaul'd would have missed those, or ignored their significance. Not him. In his long career, he had witnessed the conquest, or outright destruction, of several primitive civilizations at the hand of fellow Goau'ld. Fellows who often questioned his own apparent reluctance to join the game. He usually brushed those questions away with an apologetic answer empty of real meaning.

The truth was, he found the usual Goau'ld way of intrigue, war and conquest rather dull. He'd done it in his early years, then grown out of it. It was after all always the same. And he was confident that he could play it better than most, indeed he had demonstrated it many times, earning the respect of his race brothers. The handful who had outright derided his supposed lack of ambition and valour had all suffered unfortunate fates, thus instructing the rest.

Besides, he rather enjoyed prowling the galaxy in relative anonymity. There were so many sights to see, wonders that the System Lords themselves didn't get to appreciate, so busy they were with the running of their empires.

As for excitement… he had it in spades. Be it patiently stalking a Tok'ra operative before springing, predator-like, to the capture, or narrowly escaping through an Asgard-protected planet's stargate as a grey hammerhead ship hovered above, strident merciless beams of light removing Jaffas and Goau'ld alike from existence.

Which all meant that his vast pool of accumulated experience allowed him to recognize the sparse molecules for what they were. Residue from chemical slug-throwers, caseless and smoke-free. Only an advanced pre-FTL industrial base could produce those. This conclusion was compounded by the report from the Jaffa commander, telling of half-invisible enemies who could run faster than a warrior and shoot at the same time.

Speaking of which…

"Show me where you put the bodies of your dead comrades" he ordered the Jaffa behind him.

"At once, my Lord !"

The dead were neatly aligned on the ground near the right side of the temple, where they would be buried later. The Goaul'd inquisitor squatted next to the first one. Armed with a small cutting field, he cut away the layers of mail and cloth covering the Jaffa's chest, uncovering the abdomen. He bent closer, his optical piece configuring for a close inspection, and began to examine the wound. The flesh wasn't charred as was the case with a plasma-inflicted injury. Instead it was torn, one lip of the symbiotic pouch ragged messily. He compared it with the hole in the Jaffa's armor. The later was neater, a small hole in the strong metal mesh.

Putting aside the material, he held his gloved hand over the wound. A soft glow illuminated the torn flesh as the exquisitely sensitive device probed the dead warrior's ravaged body.

The Goau'ld operative made an appreciating pout as the reconstructed tissue structure was superposed on his display. The hidden trauma was a lot worse. The symbiote was shredded inside the destroyed womb-like cavity. Death must have come quickly and painfully as the larva's toxic body fluids mixed with the humanoid's bloodstream.

He zoomed in on some specks highlighted in blue on the synthetic reconstruction, marking them as foreign inorganic matter. An expanded view sprang out, accompanied by a chemical analysis printout. He rotated the view, examining the splinter from every angle, then reduced the magnification and brought in similar views of every similar splinter inside the wound. A single command told the powerful portable computer to virtually reassemble the fragments.

_Ha_. The investigator smiled inwardly. Swimming before his eyes in the synthetic tridimensional display, the reconstructed shape of a metal-ceramic crystalline armor-piercing fragmenting bullet. An additional processing presented him with a step-by-step animation of the impact, the solid miniature slug punching through Jaffa armor then splitting into razor-sharp slivers, expanding and ripping through the flesh.

He ended the display and then stood up. Taking a short breath, he turned on his heels and headed back to the gate room. The dead villagers' bodies, or what remained of them, wouldn't tell him anything more.

He reflected on his discovery as he ascended the tall stone steps. The presence of the slug allowed for two possibilities. One, the Supremacy had enrolled a new breed of warriors. It certainly wasn't impossible. There was the Kull precedent for that. Two… some upstart civilization was trying to muscle in on the System Lords' turf.

His upper lip contracted. In the former case, he would have to find the place where Anubis produced and trained those soldiers, and then the Alliance would do its best to level it to the ground. Just as they'd done to Tartarus, the Kull's birthplace, not before thousands of those were produced unfortunately. In the latter… well, it would probably be even easier to obliterate the threat to Goau'ld dominance.

Yu's agent paused this line of reflexion as he reached the interior of the temple, dwelling instead briefly on the labia-shaped doors. Typical of Lady Chiang-Mu. She was such a cock-tease.

He winced and forcefully banished the vision of her sultrily pouting red lips from his mind, shaking his head, then focused instead on the very real control panel in front of him.

There wasn't much to see : it was a simple door opener. It didn't even have a hidden derivation. No, the monitoring and warning beacon was actually inside the opening mechanism, its emissions shielded by the mass of conducting gold. The little custodian broadcasted a very short and virtually undetectable subspace transmission. Undetectable, that is, unless one knew exactly what to look for.

Only one piece was out of place. Or rather, wasn't supposed to be there. The power cell, glowing faintly in the gloom with the yellow radiance of energetic naquadah.

He looked back and spoke loudly enough to be heard by the Jaffas outside.

"I'm going to turn off the lights."

"Understood, My Lord !"

Delicately, as a matter of good habit rather than pure necessity for the power cell design was quite a sturdy, Jaffa-proof one, he removed the small battery. Immediately, the temple went dark, and his eyepiece compensated automatically.

Now was the truly sensitive part. With practiced, precise motions, he removed the silvery superconducting frame controlling the flow of energies from the liquid naquadah and holding the tiny cap-like crystal plug. The next step had to be done in isolation, or the result would be tainted. Squatting down, he extracted a small brick-like object from one of the numerous pouches dotting his attire, put it on the ground and flicked a small button on its side. Almost at once, the object's surface seemed to blur, losing its texture and color, then morphed liquid-like, a liquid that expanded and shaped itself into a much larger boxy volume, then solidified again. A derivative of the Goaul'd standard building nanotech, customized to suit the agent's needs in the field. Needs that were simple, thus the entire process took mere seconds instead of the hours needed for most elaborate products.

The denuded naquadah container was introduced into the black box, which sealed again, and went through the inverse process of shrinking like a deflating balloon. This time though, the material wrapped over the power cell like a flexible clinging film, having expelled every molecule of atmosphere and surface contaminant.

A high-pitched whine sounded as the brick-like portable analyzer used its internal machinery to drill through the crystal, and seconds later, its probing tendrils made contact with the energetic fluid, tasting it through its microscopic, excruciatingly sensitive buds.

Finally, the result was displayed in the agent's field of vision, a three-dimensional wavy surface showing every little specific piece of data on the liquid naquadah's composition.

Then another ghostly surface was superposed on it, faithfully espousing every curve.

_Correlation found_, the system announced, along with a set of glyphs. It was a name, a name almost fallen into disuse, a short name, yet one every Goaul'd knew.

_Ra_.

The operative inhaled sharply. This was unexpected. Of course it didn't mean that Ra was behind the attack. Naquadah was, after all, the most commonly traded value among the System Lords.

Yet nobody else had used naquadah from Ra's domains for a thousand years.

**Nautona System**

**Tollan Empire**

**6 LY from the Tollan Home System**

_Nautona - the pearl of the Empire !_

_From lush tropical forests to endless ski slopes, you won't find the time to be bored on the best-preserved imperial world. Despite three centuries of settlement, the planet retains a sense of true authenticity with its vast natural reserves and the local focus on responsible agricultural practices. As a result, Nautona offers the widest range of activities on any imperial world along with first-class infrastructures. _

_Try the multitude of scenic hikes in the beautiful, temperate Nava mountains. Or dive in the crystal-clear warm waters of the Sitarian islands near the equator. Want more sophisticated recreation ? Then Satria, the capital city, awaits you with its countless cafes and restaurants, museums and theaters, and its lively nightlife. _

_And if this isn't enough, take a cruise to the incredible vistas of Galar, the system's gaseous giants, with its multicoloured rings and twenty-five moons. _

_Don't wait - the pearl of the Empire awaits your visit !_

The Tollan Vacationer, 167th edition

The Imperial Tollan Navy command and control station _Disceia_ hung over Nautona in geostationary orbit. Its countergravity modules could hold it effortlessly against the planet's attraction, but it was deemed that a natural orbit was safer in the unlikely event of a malfunction. A disc-shaped structure with a diameter of four hundred meters, its white circular shape was a familiar sight to the planet's amateur astronomers.

Its main function was to provide a sensor watch of the system, taking in the feeds from the dozen of automated monitoring stations scattered at regular intervals around the periphery, adding them to the picture from its own powerful sensors, and retransmitting a coherent tactical picture to the other ITN assets. It also served as a command hub, although so far the crew had more practice coordinating rescue and salvage efforts both on-ground and in space.

Therefore, when the warning for an unscheduled hyperspace window flashed on the CIC's displays, the handful of navy operators present reacted according to training more than experience. The procedures were clear and largely automated though. A routine system-wide alert was sent to the various ITN assets. So far, it didn't mean much. Unscheduled arrivals weren't exactly unknown. There were always morons who forgot to check in their flight plan and as a result lost their license along with a hefty fine. It could also be a distressed ship, in which case the nearest vessel, civilian or military, would be requested to render assistance.

In the meantime, the station's computers processed the raw sensor input, analyzing and quantifying the energetic emissions from the rend in the normal fabric of space. The highly complex numbers were correlated with known hyperspace signatures, and the station's expert logic found a close match.

A microsecond later, the urgent wail of an attack warning shook the quiet atmosphere, while the lighting turned red station-wide and a synthetic voice announced the nature of the emergency.

"_Warning warning. Enemy ship in-system. Warning warning..."_

Inside the command center, the main holographic display reconfigured itself to show a close-up of the region of space where the hyperspace event had just happened. Subspace-based, real time data showed the location and composition of the enemy force.

No less than ten Goaul'd Hatak motherships were sitting in formation three light-minutes from Galar, far outside the range of the local defensive batteries.

Even as the operators watched, smaller icons flooded from the larger ones. Shoals of Death Gliders and Alkesh bombers settled in loose attack formations then vectored out, closely followed by the huge motherships.

"They're going to swamp the Galar defense perimeter" the officer in charge stated matter-of-factly, doing his best to exude calm. A response was needed. Fortunately, Nautona was a core world, and as such, possessed a full-sized defense fleet.

"Order the Galar squadron to engage Goau'ld small craft in support of our fixed defenses", the local reaction force was comprised of destroyers and gunboats, small units that were the most effective against Goaul'd fighters and bombers, but didn't stand a chance against upgraded Hataks. Hopefully they would delay the enemy long enough for the heavier units, the cruiser-centric squadrons in Nautona high orbit, to move out and engage the motherships.

"Sir, many civilian ships are cruising the Galar sector. They will be caught in the cross-fire"

The officer winced inwardly. Defenseless, save for their civilian-grade shields, and full of tourists, those graceful vessels were easy prey for even a squadron of Death Gliders. He would have to hope they'd have the time to run away, and that the Goaul'd would focus on the military units. There wasn't much he could do.

"Have they received the warning ?"

"Affirmative. Most are already scattering and running in-system at flank speed"

"Well we did what we could."

Deep in the cold emptiness of space, thousands of attackers bore in. Sleek Death Gliders and bulky Alkesh flew in scattered formations, lessons learnt from battles survived. As soon as they entered the range of Tollan weapons, their pilots began to jink randomly along their attack vector, evading the bright storm of ion cannon fire rushing before them.

Not all of them were lucky, the sheer weight of fire was bound to find targets. The feared Tollan ion cannons weren't a mortal threat to Hataks any more, but smaller ships were fair game.

Down on the airless moon closest to the Goaul'd swarm, gunnery crews manning the underground command bunkers directed the fire of the battery they were responsible for on the surface above them. More batteries had been installed in the past months, when the ITN had realized they couldn't afford to play quality over quantity any more. For now, the range was long and ion fire wasn't close to light-speed. It was a matter of sending heavy salvos in the predicted flight path of the intruders, hoping to whittle down their numbers and disrupt their formations before they entered range of their own weapons. An Alkesh torpedo was powerful enough on its own to smash through an ion battery's individual shield and destroy the guns. And there were hundreds of incoming bombers, not counting the weaker fighters that could whittle down the defenders through sheer quantity.

Inside the station's CIC, the commander watched as enemy icons winked out steadily. But not fast enough. Not fast enough. He grabbed the elevated railing tightly as Glider formations branched out of the main swarm in pursuit of the escaping civilian ships. A brief struggle flared in his mind. If he gave the order to intercept, the civilians might be spared. But then the fixed defenses would lose their cover at the most crucial moment.

Seconds ticked by, and eyes looked at him as each passing moment reduced the intercept solution for the fast boats.

At last his gaze hardened. "We can't lose the Galar defense batteries. Our cruisers will need their support if they are to have a hope of standing up to those Hataks."

"Sir, there must be thousands of civilians aboard those ships" the watchmaster objected quietly.

"And there are thousands more on Galar's moons, officer." the commander retorted. "Whatever happens, many Tollans will die today."

**Ascendant Supremacy Hatak **_**Merciless**_

**Nautona outer system**

The god-like being surveyed the development of the battle on the holoscreen, sitting erect on his throne, hands poised over the touch-sensitive surface of his armrests, ready to intervene personally. So far he didn't need to. His subordinates did an adequate job of managing the maneuver of his ships, obeying the plan set in motion.

And so far the Tollans were reacting as expected, massing the bulk of their local squadrons to counterattack in force with ground fire support. As resilient as his upgraded Hataks' shields were, the combined firepower of the Tollan vessels would eventually whittle them away, while the smaller, nimbler defenders would dodge the majority of his return fire.

But it didn't matter. He wasn't here to fight a set-piece battle, one fleet pounding away at the other. And the hapless civilian ships fleeing the sector were small fry. The Goaul'd's grin widened as the first fugitives came under fire from the agile Death Gliders.

Rothan bared his teeth in a savage joyful snarl. His Death Glider squadron was one of those tasked with pursuing the retreating unarmed Tollan ships, and along with two of his comrades he had accelerated hard in pursuit vector of a pleasure liner, an elegant vessel gleaming white and silver on the blackness of space. It was straining to reach the inner system and the protection afforded by the cruisers rushing toward the battle, but it was built for comfort, not pure acceleration. Rothan knew its prey wouldn't escape in time, and he allowed himself the pleasure of zooming past the bulging hull, savoring the terror that must grip the doomed souls inside, then looped away. The Tollan liner attempted to maneuver and Rothan laughed at the pitiful effort. His own fighter could match every move, imitated by his wingmen.

He selected his aimpoint carefully : the transparent surface on the vessel's dorsal side below which he could see the vivid blue of a pool surrounded by the greens, reds and yellows of ornamental vegetation. His lip curled in disgust and hate. Those godless Tollan scum displayed such arrogance, scoffing at his god's power, refusing to worship. He would show them, the proud instrument of Lord Tanith's divine wrath.

His fingers tensed around the control globes. He knew the powerful magic at the heart of his war vessel would recognize his intent to open fire. Thinking deliberately, he commanded the craft's fire spirit to unleash the wrath of the gods.

His aim was true. The luminous golden bolts of sunfire flashed away and crashed over the target. He saw the flicker of counter-magic, preventing his holy fire from reaching the infidel craft. He gritted his teeth in determination, knowing that his wingmen were adding their own retribution. Their combined fierceness eventually overcame the weaker magic of their prey and he cried in exultation as flames erupted on the Tollan hull, shattering the clear blister. Avidly, the Jaffa pilot drank the glorious sight of destruction, when vacuum sucked hungrily at the wound bathed in cleansing flame. Trees vanished to black dust, water flashed to vapor, metal bubbled and tore.

Rothan switched his aim to the protrusion which had to be the enemy ship's Pel'tak. Metal plating splintered away, followed by air and debris, then bodies flaying comically as if performing a silent pantomime. One of them drifted in Rothan's aim, and the Jaffa spat in hateful glee when the heavy plasma bolt disintegrated the body in a grotesque cloud of gore.

At once, the Tollan ship ceased further maneuvering, its commanding intelligence destroyed. The three Death Gliders were free to aim as they pleased and started to walk their fire all over the vast hull, rending and tearing away its contents. Rows of cabins were eviscerated, disgorging their terrified human cargo into the cold embrace of space to snuff out their lives in agonizing, drawn-out suffocation. Parents watched helplessly as their children were incinerated in the blink of an eye, before joining the carbonized remains to drift in the void. Couples and friends desperately tried to scream a last _I love you_ before the absence of air silenced them forever.

Methodically, ruthlessly, the trio of Death Gliders dug inside the wounded beast, gutting it like a fish, leaving no compartment intact. They dodged the larger debris drifting out, unconcerned with the occasional spattering of small pieces and frozen droplets on the sturdy outer panels.

Every light and every live had long been extinguished inside the Tollan ship when the Jaffas ceased firing. The battered, unrecognizable mass of shredded matter before them would never fly again, and never again harbour the enemies of their god, of that they were sure.

With a satisfied grin, Rothan pivoted his fighter away. It wouldn't do to be caught by the incoming cruisers, and with luck the battle over the gas giant would still be going on when they were back.

He boosted away from the expanding debris field, having inflicted a last outrage. As his Death Glider accelerated out-system, he glanced contently at his starboard wing and the sharp end of the staff cannon protruding out of it. There, skewered like a rabbit, hung the splayed shape of a naked Tollan female, her face frozen in a silent scream.

The opportunity had been too good and his skill at piloting had done the rest.

If he survived the coming fight, he would sure have the biggest bragging right, back at the mothership ! This happy thought banished any regret that the girl was already dead when he "collected" her.

**Tianxa System**

**Planet-side**

Lights were back inside the temple chamber, casting dim shadows on the stone floor where the ancient ring-like travel device stood up. Close-by, the dialing and control keybard squatted like a fat flat mushroom, its shape broken by the unusual sight of an open panel on its stem, an aperture that allowed the investigator to rummage inside the stargate's control logic. He found and retrieved a single memory crystal, rendering the whole apparatus unusable. But it was only temporary.

Frowning with anticipation, he inserted the logic module in a dedicated slot on his portable computer. The holographic display sprang up, accessing the datashard's contents.

Of course, they were encrypted. Fortunately, it didn't use the more complex schemes on other pieces of Ancient technology, for the stargate network was after all designed to be universal. The encryption was only there to make sure that nobody who didn't have a qualification for tinkering with the whole shebang, couldn't.

The Goau'ld species had been tinkering with it for millenia, with contrasted success. Building new gates was still out of their league, as far as the operative knew. Fiddling with their programming, on the other hand, could be achieved, although not even remotely by everyone and this kind of knowledge was jealously guarded by whoever possessed it.

He knew a few tricks though, some he'd found by himself, others he had stolen or otherwise acquired. Among those were the codebreaker algorithm he had just set to work on the Ancient datashard. With luck, it would provide him with a list of the last dialed address. It was a damn good thing the Jaffa leader had been equipped with a communicator, and had had the sense not to dial out.

He was running against time here. His portable computer wasn't as powerful as the one in Yu's mothership, but he'd rather keep the codebreaking program for himself.

At least whoever had first written it had had the presence of mind to include a routine displaying the estimated time needed to complete the number-crunching.

He sighed as the estimate appeared. Two hours. At least, it seemed that the address had not already been purged by the time he had unplugged the crystal.

"Jaffa !" he barked out.

"Yes my lord ?" the answer came back at once. Good, the warriors weren't asleep.

"Bring me something to eat. Roasted, preferably" He paused then added thoughtfuly "and not from that village out there."

Eventually, the computer completed its task in a little less time than predicted and beeped to catch its owner's attention. The Goaul'd agent discarded the rabbit leg he had been methodically stripping from its attached flesh, licked his fingers to remove the greasy juices, and wiped them dry on the hem of his cloak.

A set of outbound coordinates was pulsing softly on the holoscreen and he sprang up, all weariness vanished from his mind. He unplugged the datacrystal in order to slot it back into its proper emplacement inside the Chappai's control apparatus. Closing the panel, he spoke loudly for the benefit of the nearby Jaffas.

"It is time for me to leave this world. I don't need an escort, but inform Lord Yu of my destination address" _just in case_, he didn't say aloud.

"Yes, my lord !"

His right hand pressed the symbols in sequence, his left hand removed a small grey round object. As soon as the familiar foamy fountain settled into a stable horizon, he threw the metal ball in. Scant seconds later, having travelled the gulf of interstellar space between the two worlds, the sensor ball transmitted back. Its slightly grainy picture only showed the sandy surface it had landed on before the internal mechanism set it upright. The view panned around and back to show the still active stargate. At first glance, nothing threatening lurked around.

Nevertheless, the agent raised his left gauntlet, glanced at the ornamental semi-precious stones studded on the bronze-sheened surface, and tapped an emerald-green stud. At once, his appearance seemed to shimmer and blur, then his whole shape disappeared from view. Satisfied that his personal cloak was operating correctly, he stepped into the waiting star-faring tunnel.

He came out at the other end in the local sunset. Away from the Chappai, ancient eroded cliffs glowed a luminous pink in the near-horizontal reddish light, his own invisible form standing in the infinitely elongated shadow of the dark grey ring.

The wormhole vanished behind him as he stood motionless on the white-stone stand, scanning his surroundings. None of his senses, natural or artifical, told him of danger waiting, but he didn't shut off his invisibilty field yet. Walking out, he bent and collected the sensor ball, put it back inside the waiting pouch on his belt, and straightened again.

There was no sign of recent presence. No residual heat-traces, no footprints. He made a small moue, reached for the cloak's control and allowed his form to rejoin the visual spectrum. Still no sign of activity. He wouldn't be so trusting as to deactivate his personal shield though.

"Well, well" he muttered, taking a couple of steps to the Chappai's control board. "This is going to be either a very boring or very exciting chase."

As it turned out, it would be the latter. Just as he put his foot down in the middle of a stride, the suddenly increased weight tripped a hairthin strand of pressure net buried a couple of centimeters under the sandy ground in front of the dialing pedestal. The fiberglass material was virtually unnoticeable in the ubiquitous silice, and it hadn't tripped the agent's scanning hardware any more than the carbon envelope of the small brick buried at the base of the dialing stand. The conventional explosive and tungsten-ceramic pellets inside had been missed as well. They just weren't the kind of thing the rather single-minded sensor logic was used to look for, or maybe their signature was lost against the much larger artificial object.

The amagnetic claymore mine exploded without warning, projecting a cone of razor sharp ceramic flechettes outward. Their sheer speed was ironically what made them ineffective, for the Goau'ld personal shield recognized the fast-moving objects as a threat and flared instantly, its immaterial screen stopping the lethal shower.

Nevertheless, the operative flew back under the combination of shock, surprise, and plain reflexive fear, and landed without grace, but otherwise unharmed a couple paces backward. As the noise subsided, he found himself staring up at the darkening sky and its handful of alien constellations, the brightest ones already competing with the rapidly retreating sunlight. Elbows propping up his upper torso, he looked at the dust-covered pedestal and the small crater underneath, shook his head and narrowed his eyes.

"That was clever" he observed to himself, "One more step and this trap might have detonated inside my shield". Thankfully, his protective forcescreen had also kept the worst of the overpressure out, and his ears barely rang.

He pushed himself fully erect and approached the pedestal carefully. Bending down, he did a thorough visual check, looking for any sign of tampering, followed by a similarly thorough interior scan. At last, satisfied that it wasn't booby-trapped, he proceeded to unlatch the access panel, looking forward to another round of boredom while the computer attempted to decrypt the Chappai's memory.

**Nautona System**

**Tollan Empire**

"My lord, our light forces are engaging the gas giant's defensive perimeter"

The would-be god gave a cursory glance at the Jaffa who had just spoken the obvious. He could see it well enough on the pel'tak's lavish displays. They were close enough that the mighty ship's optical sensors could provide him with a direct view of the engagement ahead where his fighter and bomber formations, descended on the populated moons and sundry space-borne facilities like swarms of ravenous insects upon fertile crops.

He answered just as perfunctorily.

"Good. Let those infidels cower before my power !"

The Jaffa nodded keenly, eager to display his enthousiastic obedience. The Tollan Empire was said to possess untold riches, and surely such populated worlds would yield fabulous loot, of which Lord Tanith's closest and most faithful servants would naturally have the first helping.

The general mood was less bombastic inside the command station _Disceia_. The Tollan commander watched the main plot with barely restrained frustration. The icons representing the heavy cruiser squadrons seemed to crawl along the empty space between Nautona and Galar, although they were actually straining their drives under maximum acceleration. He cursed again the main limitation of Tollan hyperdrives, their inability to engage safely inside a star's gravity well. Again the nagging thought in his mind : what if the attack on Galar was a diversion ? Of course Nautona Prime's fixed defenses were even more formidable, and ten Hataks would be hard pressed to do more than dent them, but… He shook his head. Ten motherships were already a considerable force. In the larger context of the internecine Goau'ld war, he doubted any System Lord had more warships to spare for an attack on what was after all only a secondary theater.

He leant forward, squinting at the ethereal holographic figures. He reached for the activation stud of his personal augmented display and the silver-reflective visor deployed from the back of his collar. The augmented reality interface sprang before his eyes and his hand tapped the virtual controls that were invisible for ayone else. A window opened in superposition over the CIC's main holotank, effectively zooming in on the volume of space centered on the gas giant. Crucially, individual data was now attached to every enemy group, chiefly their current vector and acceleration.

And there was his anomaly. The shoals of small craft were not decelerating as they should in order to fight over the various moons and orbital installations. They were instead continuously accelerating and by now they would overshoot instead of coming to a relative stop. The officer understood at once. The attackers weren't planning on knife-fighting like old-time atmospheric craft, as their inertial-compensated drives allowed them to, they were going to slash through the perimeter. Just what were they expecting to do ? They would be going much too fast to inflict significant damage…?

He keyed in the general command channel.

"_Disceia_ CIC to ITN assets, be advised our enemy is not behaving conventionally. High probability of suicide runs"

It seemed unbelievably wasteful, if that was indeed the tactic adopted by the Goaul'd in command. He continued watching the figures intently as they crept closer to the projected targets, barely listening to the various acknowledgments answering his notice.

Seconds and kilometers ticked by and the waves of small craft still bore straight in. Another minute and they would enter the closest moon's ice-cold methane atmosphere. Behind them, the phalanx of motherships followed though not quite as fast as the nimbler Death Gliders and Alkesh squadrons. By now, their heavy staff cannons were in range and adding their fire, although with an accuracy that was marginal at best. Still, the powerful plasma bolts were plowing huge furrows in the ice-crust when they didn't splash over the theater shields protecting settlements, defensive batteries and ships in low orbit, gradually draining their protective power.

The Tollan commander didn't know whether to be grateful or not when the yellow-colored arrowlines representing the predicted trajectory of the Goau'ld onslaught suddenly inflected away from the icy moon, by now dotted by gibbous billowing clouds wherever heavy plasma shots had impacted and vaporized the solid methane-flavored cover.

The Jaffas weren't suicidal after all. Their drives were now straining hard, nudging away from their previously established vectors. The next seconds saw the Death Gliders barrel through the perimeter at breakneck speed, more like missiles than manned fighters, some of them grazing the rarefied upper atmosphere and leaving incandescent trails in their passage. The handful of gunboats and the lone destroyer sitting directly in their path barely had time to engage in evasive maneuvers, but it was more luck than competence, allied to the sheer vastness of space, that miraculously ensured the absence of collision-related casualties.

The less maneuverable bombers came right on the heels of the fighter wave, but their trajectories were dead set, squadron by squadron, on Tollan surface installations and didn't budge, like a shower of man-made meteors.

Yet they weren't charging headlong into the waiting jaws of death, for as soon as their shields started to flare up under the suddenly increased atmospheric resistance, the bulbous craft released their deadly cargo. The familiar glowing spheres of plasma torpedoes, shining like the miniature suns they closely imitated, rained down on the besieged surface. Many pounded the ground-based shields, those already weakened failing and letting the unleashed infernos incinerate hapless men and equipment.

But the rest hit the unprotected surface with tremendous force, their sheer speed allowing them to burrow deep into the soil until the delicately balanced autonomous containment fields collapsed under the colossal strain they were subjected to.

The maximum-yield torpedoes burst kilometers under the surface all around the protected facilities, and the seismic shocks shattered the thick icecrust along reticulated fracture lines like bullets fracturing glass, the shockwaves throwing chunks of matter in giant fountain-like eruptions.

Shields sputtered and vanished when their power was brutally cut off or their generators crushed by the sudden tectonic surge, reinforced subterranean bunkers tilted and floundered deeper, access tunnels collapsed everywhere, trapping shell-shocked crews.

In a brief, savage moment, half the Tollan facilities on the moon's surface ceased to exist, and countless hyperspace windows opened above the churning world. Their mission accomplished, the Alkesh squadrons disappeared into the parallel set of dimensions, minus the handful of their number that had fallen prey to the defenders' firepower.

As the other attack groups started their own high speed attack runs one after the other, the ten motherships vanished into hyper, leaving the Tollan commanders puzzled.

Their puzzlement turned to frantic horror when the ten Hataks reappeared instants later inside Nautona's atmosphere and dropped like stones.

Automatic defense protocols competed with safety overrides, for every Goau'ld mothership had reappeared right above one of Nautona's clustered cities and below the planet's global energy shield in an impressive feat of pinpoint navigation. Almost immediately, their ventral batteries unleashed a barrage aimed at every registered Tollan ion cannon in line of sight, confident that their counterparts in orbit wouldn't risk firing on the cities they were supposed to protect ; and massive blast doors slid open on the vast armored flanks, allowing the cavernous hangar bays to disgorge their waiting brood of assault Tel'taks filled to the brim with Jaffa shock troops.

Far above, inside the Tollan navy's station, the commander's jaw worked silently for second, before words managed to escape his dumbfounded mouth.

"Oh crap !"

**Satria Outer Districts**

**Nautona surface**

"For our god ! For glory ! Kree !"

Jaffa battle cries rang in the morning air, bellowed by hundreds of frenzied fanatical throats. Before and below them the waiting, almost defenceless vistas of the planet's capital metropolis were already marred by dozens of blazing smoking pyres where the mothership's gunners had targeted and destroyed Tollan military facilities, first of all the handful of ground-based ion cannons, before they could even think of reacting to the brazen intrusion. Other targets of interest known to the Goaul'd, chiefly the security and assistance stations scattered among the sprawling, greenbelted housing estates, were similarly reduced to burning rubble, hopefully hampering local resistance.

Not that Tanith and his lieutnants expected much of it. One of his Hataks had taken care of the sole Tollan army base on Nautona by the simple expedient of landing on top of it, merging its own shield with the target's, and crushing troops and buildings under its bulk. Its guns had then taken care of the survivors. The vessel's underside was lightly damaged in the process, but it could still take off and open a hyperwindow if needed. In the meantime, Jaffas were streaming out to occupy and subdue the surrounding settlements.

Six Hataks were currently hovering over Satria, forming a besieging circle around the city's geographic center and holding the various tenements, commercial and leisure neighborhoods hostage against orbital fire. Tanith's initial planning counted on the Tollans not being ruthless enough to open fire on their own civilians with high-yield weapons, the only ones that could threaten a fully shielded Hatak, even inside an atmosphere. So far, he'd been right. Orbital guns remained silent, and the cruisers were scrambling back toward their home planet, leaving the Galar fleets to fend for themselves. Not that the fast Goau'ld craft intended to linger and reattack, having destroyed a third of the local installations in one daring slashing strike. They were heading off into deep interplanetary space, their primary objectives accomplished, to await further instructions.

And if the initial Jaffa ground assault succeeded, then their lord would gain another card of the game.

**Nava Mountains**

**Nautona, Northern Continental Mass**

Two thousand kilometers away from the capital city, one Hatak made an even more daring reentry, exiting hyperspace less than three hundred meters above ground surface, the sudden air displacement provoking a localized hurricane-strength blast wave that flattened trees and houses alike in a fraction of a second. Fortunately, the latter were rather sparse around, for its arrival point was square in the middle of a glacier valley in the Nava mountain range. It wasn't far from the highest point on Nautona's major and only permanently settled continent-sized island, for the rest of the planet, with its smaller insular lands, was a vast nature preserve.

The success of the whole invasion largely relied on the success of this particular warship's mission, for its target was right on top of Vanitas Peak, at 7240 meters above sea level the world's highest mountain and thus the best location to place the planetary shield's primary emitter. It, along with the planet's Primary Power Facility, had to be secured in the first phase of the invasion.

The mothership's emergence point placed it out of line of sight from Vanitas Peak, hidden behind a high ridge, three valleys away. Its arrival was naturally registered by the planet wide sensor network, and the local Tollan commander reacted quickly and, she thought, decisively.

"Blast this mothership out of my sky" the order sounded clearly in the subterranean command room's quiet, focused atmosphere.

"Commander" the senior operator interjected, looking back at his superior "we haven't received an order and-"

"It is vital that this facility remain operational and I will not allow an enemy ship to threaten it !" the senior officer hammered the last words. "I have final authority per War Regulations, now do it !"

"Target's hidden behind a ridge, Commander"

"So blast the damned mountain then !"

"Sir there are civilians in the area…" _including my wife and children, you bitch,_ the clearly-distressed man tried to argue and stall what he considered a inhuman and irresponsible order.

His persistent interference finally overstressed the standing officer's patience. Her brown eyes narrowed and her fingers found the butt of her personal defense weapon. A smooth practiced motion extracted the small gun from its holster and aimed it, almost casually. Before anyone could react, the short whistle-crack of a ion discharge sounded, unnaturally sharp and brief inside the soundproofed room.

Brain and blood splattered wetly on the metal-framed display behind the reluctant technician, blurring the projected holographic image. The body went limp and flopped out of the narrow chair, spreading more organic matter on the floor.

In the suddenly increased silence, save for the insistent beeping of the proximity alarm, the hard-edged officer turned her aim to the next operator.

"As per War Regulations, insubordination in time of war is punished by death" she stated in ice-cold anger. "Now. Execute my order !"

The targeted man gulped, cold sweat suddenly glistening on his brow, and nodded urgently.

"By your order, Commander Kain !"

A short moment later, the five turrets with a clear line rotated in unison, depressed their guns, and commenced firing at their maximum cyclic rate.

The converging streams of ion bolts lanced down over the separating valleys, their sheer number producing a continuous illumination rivalling with the rising sun's, blanking out shadows in rich gold light. Downrange, the targeted mountain flank disappeared in a flaring cloud of actinic fire and smoke, the noise reaching back as a thunderous uproar that drowned everything in a fifty-kilometer radius. Even inside the insulated command bunker, the deep seismic tremor shook pens and goblets off consoles and tables, rattling the bones of the men and women manning the various stations.

Like a giant icepick, the ion fire chipped and ate away at the granite rampart, until the last meters of rock shattered away and the Tollan fury began to hammer at the Hatak's shield. The struggle of sword and shield flared brightly, sheets of fire blanking out the humongous mothership from visual observation. Not that anyone was around to see it, for the massive trauma of the mountain ablation had already bathed the whole area in dust smoke and falling incandescent boulders. Every soul still alive was cowering inside whatever available shelter, leaving the surface prey to flame and windblast.

Inside the mighty ship's tel'tak, Reetak, Tanith's trusted First Prime observed the various readouts. Shield strength was dropping steadily. Naturally, he had received very adamant orders not to return fire, for the facility had to be taken intact.

Still, he had a mission to accomplish, and he personally directed the aim of _Tanith's Sword_.

The tree-trunk sized plasma cannons adjusted, peeked out of their gun ports, and unleashed a flurry of star-hot material in return, their passage illuminating the spreading cloud of smoke and powdered rock like flashing thunder in a dark storm.

The aim was slightly off, or so it seemed. Instead of striking the facility's external bubble shield straight on, the shots scattered around, barely flaring the insubstantial wall, blasting out chunks of snow-covered rock and shaking the concealed buildings on their foundations.

Shield strength fallen down to almost critical level, ion discharges began to seep through the Hatak's forcefield, licking at the trinium-alloyed hull. Exterior plates buckled and rang under the battering, none of the damage life-threatening yet, but the Jaffa leader had enough. A flick of his wrist activated the drives under a pre-computed exit vector, the looming vessel smoothly shook itself in oblique upward motion as crackling energies forced open a bridge to the otherwordly dimension whose entry was only permitted through god-magic.

As the mothership's bulk seemed to stretch out into the swirling purple hyperspace window, a last ion salvo passed harmlessly through its last physical location and then the guns fell silent.

Inside the Tollan command bunker, displaced dust danced in the reduced ambiant lighting and small coughs were the only sounds to be heard over the sudden silence.

Her eyes fixed on the now empty threat display, Commander Kain crossed her arms under her chest and tapped her lips with a raised index finger, her severe features narrowed into a dubitative frown.

"Damage report"

A damage-control operator answered in a subdued tone. "Inner shield strength at 98%. planetary shield at full strength, perimeter defences fully operational and ready. We have some sensor disruption, fading, full capability in three point two minutes"

"Everyone stay sharp. It's not over yet," she finished in a more hushed voice "those damn headsnakes are up to something, I swear"

As if to prove her true, two stealthed assault Tel'Taks darted in the intervening valleys, using terrain obstructions to reduce their exposure to close-range active sensors, hugging the curves of the earth with ease as their inertial compensators absorbed the brutal up and down accelerations. Both ships had sprung out of their hangar bay under the cover of _Tanith's Sword_'s apparently ill-aimed return salvo, immediately activating their cloaking field, and escaped Tollan detection.

Inside each transport waited a heavy assault group of Jaffa warriors, grim faced and clad in fully enclosed snakehead armor.

Although standing room was at a premium inside the darkened holds, they were all actually squeezing close to the walls and away from the unsettling presence, at the center of the ring transport area, of a single black-shrouded Kull Warrior.

xxxxx

The pair of cloaked ships slid invisibly closer to the looming bulk of Vanitas Peak, its corona of snow-covered slopes now marred by ugly black marks and smoke trails. On the very tip of it stood the geodesic protective structure housing the planetary shield emitter, its white facets reflecting the brilliant morning light like the world's tallest beacon.

Now was the most dangerous moment of the flight, they were fully in sight and could only count on their cloaking field and the sensor disruption caused by the powerful weapon discharges ionizing the atmosphere.

The pair split out as they reached the base of the mountain. The first craft climbed toward one of the numerous gaping wounds in the mountainside created by _Tanith's Sword's_ main battery while the second one headed another smoking gash, hugging the rocky gradient and staying below the arc of the formidable guns. One after the other, they stopped to a hover inside the lip of the newly-blasted shallow caves, and their ring transporters went into action, lowering group after group of warriors and their equipment onto the ground. It was littered with shattered stones and rocks and still scorching hot, and the oven-like heat immediately began to radiate through the Jaffas' protective armor.

They proceeded with haste and silence in the shimmering air, every single one knowing his role in the initial assault.

In both locations, a pair of specially trained Jaffas went forward, carrying between them a fat hefty cylindrical object covered in the same alloy staff weapons were made of, and held it in front of their cavern's bottom wall, facing the inside of the mountain. The Kull Warrior followed them, pausing and apparently scanning the far wall. Satisfied by its quick examination, it made a forward gesture, and the cylinder was positioned right in front of the rock face, where the two carriers held it as a pair of support struts unfolded from the device's bottom. When the supports were firmly set, bearing the load without the Jaffas' help, the Kull pressed a small protruding metal plate for three seconds. The plate illuminated, and Goau'ld symbols started to flash in sequence.

"Jaffa ! Kree !"

As the counter wound down, a shrill whine wound up and energy started to build inside the device. Every member of the assault force huddled behind in anticipation of the forecoming event. Plates peeled back from the forward end of the Goau'ld drilling apparatus, letting a rich sun-yellow glow through as a protective field rippled back and expanded to encompass the body of machine and men, shielding them from the oppressive ambient heat. An instant later, the tunneling process actually started. Essentially a more powerful and focused version of a Goau'ld ribbon hand-jewel, the bigger contraption was spitting bursts of kinetic shockwaves, hammering through the sheer granite, punching and pulverizing the tough rock like a god's personal oversized percussion drill, rapidly shifting through pulse frequencies and wave-forms to clear out the rubble as it was produced.

Outside the forcefield, noise built up to a head-bursting roar, the very air turning black as powderized stone erupted back and out of the caverns, buffeting the waiting Tel'taks and forcing their pilots to hold fast on their control globes.

"Commander ! I'm receiving some weird seismic readings !"

"Incoming weapon fire ?"

"Negative, nothing else registering on perimeter watch"

The Tollan officer frowned deeper, her jaw contracting reflexively under her fingers.

"Inner shield strength ?" she asked perfunctorily.

"Full. No external strain" the sensor watch crew shook his head, then almost started as a strand of chestnut hair brushed the right side of his head. Kain's hand absently brushed it back in place behind her left ear as she leant down over her subordinate, having covered the short distance in a few elastic strides.

She wanted to see the console's display for herself. Not that she distrusted the man's competence, he was serving under her after all. It was simply her own hands-on style of command. Besides, the nearby station was still messed up from the recent execution.

The woman glanced at the various readouts and graphics, then reached in the hologram to manipulate and select alternate modes, ignoring the crewman who was sitting very still, not daring to move despite, or because, he wasn't sure, the body warmth that was coming from the severely attractive officer. He forced himself frozen in place, afraid that moving even minutely would make Commander Kain aware that her uniform-covered breast was brushing his shoulder with every motion of her arm.

After all, he really wanted to keep his balls.

"What the…" Kain finally muttered, then hissed out a furious "Fuck !", straightened and jammed her fist on a square red-and-black striped crystal standing isolated on the console's upper frame. As the shrill sound of general alarm resumed in the subterranean facility, she tapped her wrist com, keying in the public address circuit.

"Attention all personnel ! This is Kain speaking. Intruder alert, I repeat, intruder alert ! Seal every section and arm yourself ! Prepare to repel boarders !"

She repeated her message once, then keyed out of the general circuit and addressed the bunker's crew, walking purposefully toward the room's weapon locker.

"Make sure High Command got the alert and request an immediate relief force. The bloody snakes are trying to disable the planetary shield and by the Ancestors I'm not going to allow them !"

The locker opened obediently at her spoken command, revealing its arrayed contents. Without hesitation she picked up a pulse rifle, silver alloy on black composite, strapped a phase-shifter on her left forearm and a combat headset on her temples. Material extruded from the thick alloy band and settled on its basic mode, forming a transparent screen over Kain's eyes and covering her earlobes. In combat mode it would almost fully enclose her head, meeting her uniform collar and sealing it against chemical attack.

Walking up to the bunker's vault-like door, she hefted the weapon up, checked the charge and status indicators, and let it rest against her chest, satisfied. She glanced next at the device on her left arm, and the blinking blue status light made her raise her eyebrows in puzzlement.

The bloody thing appeared perfectly functional. She was surprised at that. She had expected the Goaul'd to have one of their cursed disruptors around. A small smirk creased her lips. Maybe those were only deployed on their motherships. In that case, the sons of whores would learn the meaning of pain, and it rhymed with Kain.

As suddenly as it had begun the bone-rattling vibration ceased, the Goau'ld drills automatically stopping within a few seconds interval, their control logic detecting the sudden lack of resistance meaning they had burst through to the Tollan base. The high-pitched whine tapered off and died and the forcefield flickered into nothingness.

The returned calm was broken up by a bellowed cry.

"KREEEEEEE !"

Then the pounding of heavy boots drummed through the newly created tunnel.

"Perimeter breach ! Perimeter breach on levels 4 and 6 !"

The massive blast door closing silently behind her, Commander Kain marched forward in the access tunnel, the normal soothing ambient glow replaced with the crude glare and angry red flashes of emergency lighting, and her razor-sharp shadow followed her like a shifting, morphing nightmare. She reached the end of the accessway where it branched into the main corridor, and there waiting her were three soldiers of base security. A quick appraisal glance and she snapped off a terse command.

"Follow me !"

The three troopers fell in before her rapidly beating heels, helmets fully deployed. Kain's mind was now focused on the coming battle. She had no idea of the size of the attacking force, but she didn't expect it to be more than a few dozen, for nothing could have slipped undetected except a handful of small-sized cloaked transports. It was as good, for the defenders were a short hundred, and that was mostly technical personnel with only basic weapon training.

With luck, they would be able to hold off the assaillants until friendly reinforcements arrived.

She snorted in irritation. If only she were still on her previous command, a Tollan Navy cruiser, then she would have disposed of the boarders easily by the simple expedient of venting every infested compartment to space. Here inside a mountain… they'd have to fight it the hard way, and make them pay for every section and every bulkhead.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a massive concussion and she struggled to avoid falling as the floor bucked under her feet.

Her features tightened in annoyance and she reached for her phase gauntlet. Every section sealed, the Jaffas would have to blast through the dividing doors while Tollan personnel could simply phase through.

She felt the characteristic ripplewave in her body, confirmed by the steady blue indicator on her gauntlet. She pushed her hand to the flat alloy slate barring the way, and felt it yield before her touch, allowing the rest of her person to pass through. The way phase-shifters were designed, it took a modicum of conscious action for the controlling logic to recognize its wearer's intention. Otherwise, the unfortunate wearer would simply fall down through floors and earth, pulled by gravity.

The soldiers emerged behind, then it happened. The status light on Kain's phase-shifter turned the steady orange indicating a malfunction, and a brief scream of agony pierced the officer's ears despite her headset. She snapped back on her heels and froze in horror. The third and last trooper was stuck in the thick door, trapped by the sudden return to normal phase, his body brutally merged with the metal plate in a grotesque mix that was neither fully organic nor mineral, and shouldn't have a right to exist in a sane, merciful universe. The vertical plane intersected with the unfortunate man in mid stride, cutting through his torso, arms and legs. His lungs partially squashed, he struggled to breathe in even as blood from his puréed arteries flooded his throat, and red pulp spat out of his desperately moving mouth ; an atrocious spectacle compounded by the look of sheer frantic terror in the soldier's overwide-eyes and the reflexive flexing of his fingers.

Kain watched, fascinated, the last living moments of the unlucky trooper, her mind seemingly tuning out every sound but the rasping gurgling noises he made as he vomited his own insides, until at last death welcomed his soul.

Her lip curling in revulsion, the Tollan officer glanced at the two still alive men and shook them out of their frozen posture with a barked word.

"Move !"

As they rushed past her, taking point, she followed them and keyed her com-unit.

"Everyone listen : do not attempt to phase-shift, the attackers have a disruptor field operating."

Things were about to get harder.

xxxxxxx

The sound of weapon fire and the screams of dying men reached Kain's ear as she and her small retinue stepped through one of the separation bulkhead doorways. She had used her personal override codes to open the sealed sections, and they had just climbed down from first (Command Deck) level to level 6. It mostly contained living spaces, two-man dormitories, mess hall and medical ward for the hundred-strong crew. Level 4 was dedicated to storage, and level 5 was filled with the equipment dedicated to air conditioning, water and waste processing and secondary power generators.

Those inhabited spaces were surrounded and topped by the cavernous spaces occupied by the shield's machinery, filled with inert gas and isolated by sets of meter-thick trinium hatches and autonomous internal forcefields. It would take some time for the Jaffas to burn through those, Kain reflected, and anyway they would have to reach Command Level first.

They rounded a corner and came face to face with a disheveled female running the other way, fear painted on her youngish features. She almost collided with Kain and made a double-take, recognizing the officer's face, her eyes wide as saucers, she blurted out incoherent noises, clearly under the spell of panic. She was rewarded by a tart back-handed slap and a terse scolding order to calm down and explain her messy state.

"Junior Tech Savian" Kain used the girl's formal title, snapping her out of her quasi-hysterical mood "why are you running from the fight and why aren't you in uniform ?"

The smaller woman's mouth opened and close mechanically and her eyes darted down to take in her present appearance. Her mind slipping out of its panic-induced paralysis, she realized she was running around in a sheer black lacy nightdress. The very same garment she'd received the previous evening as a gift… from Commander Kain herself.

A fierce blush reddened her cheeks in embarrassment. She'd been caught running cowardly by the very woman she wanted to please more than anything in the world, and she could guess the two male soldiers flanking them didn't miss anything of the sight. Worse, their helmets were probably recording the whole show.

Her arms moved self-consciously to cover the front of her body even as she began to speak intelligibly, although hurriedly.

"I, um, I heard the intruder alert and I, umm, wanted to join the command bunker as fast as possible and then there was an explosion and then I heard gunfire and I didn't have a weapon and -"

Kain threw up a hand in the air. "Right. Continue to command deck, get yourself a weapon and wait there". She shooed the technician away with a quick flick of her wrist and resumed her advance. By now the din of combat was louder and apparently coming closer…

She flinched as she saw plasma bolts impact the wall ahead, coming from another intersection.

Her escorts kneeled and brought their rifles in position while she took cover in a lateral doorway. The sound of multiple footsteps increased coming their way, and they breathed in unconscious relief when it was a handful of Tollan personnel that rounded the bend, two of them supporting a wounded comrade while three others followed, firing back at unseen targets and ducking out of incoming plasma bolts.

"Commander ! There are Jaffas right on our heels, we can't hold them !" one of them shouted, not stopping their hurried retreat.

"The hell we can't stop them !" Kain's angry reply could have scorched armor. As if to vindicate her statement, a mail-clad snake-helmeted warrior appeared at the end of the passage, and jerked back as ion rifle fire from the two soldiers tore through the space he had just occupied.

"You don't understand" the man started again in a half-supplicating, half-reasoning tone, "it's not only Jaffas, there's also a K-"

His last word was cut off abruptly, and was superfluous anyway, for another kind of beast turned the corner, walking unhurriedly but purposefully. Kain recognized the dreaded shape of a Kull Warrior, the elite soldier looming menacingly in jet-black armor, arm outstretched, already scanning the danger ahead and aiming its wrist-mounted blaster at the Tollans.

"Cocksucker !" the Tollan female spat out, training her rifle at the coming abomination.

"Get out of here !" One of the soldiers sprang up and grabbed her by the shoulder, shoving her forcefully behind. "Get out !" His urgent tone appeal was immediately underscored by the multiple whistle-cracks of the ion fire barrage directed at the lone attacker thirty meters away, the blue energy dissipating harmlessly on the black carapace.

Kain took the hint and scuttled back as the soldiers interposed their bodies between her and the returning flurry of plasma darts. She didn't look back as she heard the ugly wet sound of exploding flesh, her mind set on reaching the next corner right behind the wounded man and his two helpers. Miraculously, she threw herself out of sight with nothing more than a grazing wound at the back of her thigh, rolled up and hobbled forward. She had to reach the blast door just ahead… the other survivors were already huddled around the thick frame.

Wincing, she keyed her override code, and all four ducked through before she ordered the passage sealed again. Just in time, the thick alloy plate slid back in place, cutting off more high-speed plasma fire.

Allowing herself only a quick breath, she moved again, using her rifle as an improvised crutch and spoke in the general circuit.

"Kain speaking, all armed personnel to assemble at Command Level. Emergency overrides in place"

With luck, most of the personnel would get through. She called up a virtual map of the facility. Several sectors were marked in yellow indicating the presence of intruders, and another one fell even as she watched. By now level 4 was almost completely compromised. Logically, there hadn't been many defenders to oppose the Jaffas there. Blue dots moved around, her men and women, falling back to the central connecting shafts. It was a race between the Tollans trying to escape the lower levels and the advancing Goau'ld forces. Some were already cut off and trapped. The cold clinical display belied the real nature of what was really happening and Kain bit her lip in frustration when a cluster of blue markers blinked out from a yellow-tainted section.

The rag-tag group around her was casting nervous glances backwards as they made their way up, augmented here and there by other survivors who had managed to outrun the Jaffa onslaught and unstoppable black death. As they reached the command bunker's accessway Kain did a quick count. Twenty-six in total. How many of the unaccounted for were dead or prisoners she had no way of knowing for certain.

At least all of her companions had weapons, and the first arrived had already started to build an improvised barricade using whatever material laying around, mostly desks, chairs and drawers from the adjoining offices. It might slow the attackers for a short time, she reflected.

"Everyone get inside the room, we'll make the last stand there if it comes down to that !"

Twenty-six warm bodies made a rather tight fit inside the darkened command room, most of them huddled behind whatever cover they could find and away from the vault-like slab of a door. Its emergency forcefield was active, shimmering over the tough inner plate.

A minute passed in silence only broken by low whispers and faint electronic noises. Kain was slumped with her back on the cold metallic side of a support frame, having received a brief text-only message from System Command.

_Expect no immediate reinforcement. Keep shield control out of Goau'ld hands._

Just how did they expect her to comply with Kull warriors knocking at the door, she asked herself with self-derision. Spit at them ? She had locked the controls out using her personal access code and biometric data. This was the best she could do, and if all came to worse, there was the cyanide pill she kept in her breast pocket.

The enemy was close. It was ironic that internal sensors could keep her informed of the assaillants' progress, yet she couldn't do anything to oppose them. How clever, she thought with reluctant praise. Cutting through the mountain and bypassing the perimeter forcefield and heavy defenses of the main access tunnel. The Goau'ld were getting more clever at last, and the Tollan Empire was paying dearly for its lack of forethought.

She looked up as the surveillance picture superimposed on her headset display showed movement in the barricaded corridor. She sighed. So there were two of the black-clad bastards. She watched with resignation as the small ion turrets flanking the blast door opened fire ineffectually and were destroyed in turn. The visual sensor strip was next and the picture blanked out.

Kain felt fingers gingerly feeling their way to her left hand, the one that wasn't cradling the rifle, and she glanced aside, suppressing an irate word. It was Savian, the poor girl looked terrified and silent tears glistened feebly on her cheeks. Her other hand clung to her appropriated handgun the way a small child would grip her favorite doll during a thunderstorm. The older woman answered the silent request for comfort, pressing her own stronger hand over the younger female's. It gave her the courage to speak in a strained, quavering voice.

"Are we going to die ?"

Kain repressed a snort of annoyance. Stars be witness, the girl was soft. How did she ever get into the Navy… ah well, at least she was cute and fresh and young and she used to have such a bright lovely smile. The officer's mind slipped back to the previous night. How playfully Savian had swayed and pranced before her in that frilly nightdress, showing off her dancer's lithe legs and flexible figure, teasing and toying as her delicate fingers deftly unmade the glittering buttons fastening Kain's severe grey uniform. She'd grabbed her at last, out of patience, and force her to sit astride her lap, bare thighs over her own trouser-clad ones, and grabbed the graceful neck to kiss the waiting mouth.

At that, the commander's mind returned to the present, and she reached out, heedless of the stares. If they all had to die then by right she would get a last taste of those lips. The girl offered no resistance, no surprise, instead leaning avidly over, almost throwing herself onto Kain, offering her parted mouth to the probing tongue and the sight of her raised ass to the crewmen behind.

Their deep kiss lingered on, drinking the taste of each other, fully knowing it may be the last, hands moving of their own accord to stroke and caress and fondle.

_If we ever get out of this alive it's a good thing there's no regulation against fraternization in the Tollan Navy,_ Kain's inner voice told her.

Their moment of solace ended brutally when the powerful naquadah demolition charge exploded, shattering the trinium alloy blast door on its hinges and blowing the forcefield emitters out of alignment. The resulting shrapnel scythed through the room, smashing everything in its path. Five Tollans, unsufficiently covered or just plain unlucky, were hit by fragments. Four died instantly from massive trauma, the fifth was afforded a delayed end as blood poured out of the torn stump that remained of his left arm.

The force of the concussion incapacitated everyone else, bursting eardrums and forcing air out of lungs.

As shell-shocked defenders strained to move and see in the smoke-filled atmosphere, Jaffas rushed in and fanned out to beat them into submission. Kain hazily saw a man attempt to rise and aim his rifle, his reaction outsped by the swift and neat arcing motion of the staff weapon wielded by a faceless enemy warrior. The heavy butt smashed into the Tollan's arm and the rifle clattered on the floor just as the back swipe slammed into the abdomen. He doubled over in pain and was rewarded by a vigorous knee strike on his face, then collapsed, definitely out of the fight.

Kain didn't try for a weapon. Her right hand went straight to her breast pocket and the poison capsule, but her frantic gesture still caught the warrior's attention. The oversized snakehead pivoted to face her, the reptilian shape of a zat'nik'tel uncoiled on the Jaffa's forearm, and Kain's last thought before the crackling discharge disabled her was a wide-eyed "Fuuuuuck !".

_**Merciless**_

**Satria air space, Nautona**

The Goau'ld lord known as Tanith rose from his throne and regally walked toward the observation bay. The protective armor cover slid up, uncovering the transparent vision plate and allowing an unobstructed, direct view of the Tollan city. As far as his eyes could see, Goau'ld craft were in control of the sky, and rising smoke dotted the scenery showing the extent of the Jaffas' ground progress and places where resistance was crushed under plasma fire. It was a vast city, but not a dense one except in the central clusters of high-rise buildings. Habitation districts were generously interspersed with garden belts and parks, waterways and lakes adding their own jewel-like blue-grey glitter in the distance.

The other Hatak's were visible as well, looming over the metropolis like threatening mountains, occasionally adding the fire of their secondary batteries in support of the Jaffa onslaught.

Yes, this would be a great victory. The proud Tollans, at last falling to his might.

Oh well, he couldn't have done it without Anubis and the technical improvements the dark lord had gifted to his allies. Of course, Tanith suspected the mysterious Goau'ld ruler kept some under his belt, so to speak. Like the Kull Warriors only he knew how to produce and parceled to his deserving lieutnants. Those incredibly effective soldiers were so powerful, it was a good thing they were so unwaveringly loyal. And maybe it wasn't such a pity their main birthing facility was turned to molten lava by a surprise Alliance attack, Tanith sometimes reflected. After all, just what would prevent Anubis from using those tightly controlled assets to, say, enforce the continued obedience of his "allies", whom he treated more like subordinates ?

Heavy boots drummed on the pel'tak's floor and the immaculately-attired Goau'ld turned aside. Alarm flashed through his mind before he consciously slashed the instinctive reaction. The warrior wearing the serpent-shaped helmet was his own First Prime, he saw as the cumbersome-looking headgear retracted into the soldier's collar.

Smirking and crossing his arms, he welcomed the newcomer.

"Reetak ! You are bringing good news I gather ?"

"Indeed, my lord," the scarred fighter bowed curtly, "I have captured the facility controlling this world's protective barrier. This armor was very useful." he added, glancing down at his own chest.

"Good. I knew those serpent suits we captured from the fool Apophis would come in handy one day" Tanith commented, and waved away the two guards who had followed Reetak in. "Tell me. Have you captured many prisoners ?"

A satisfied grin answered. "Yes, my lord. Among which many technical specialists…" he glanced over his shoulder, and extended his arm toward the little group making its entry in the mothership's bridge area, as if to welcome guests. "And I brought you the Tollan commander, caught alive as she as cowering in fear of our ineluctable victory"

The once-immaculately uniformed Commander Kain was half-carried, half-restrained by two burly Jaffas in serpent gear, two more bringing up the rear with another captive whose attire perplexed the Goau'ld lord momentarily. He frowned. Well, he would undoubtedly get an answer.

As if reading his master's puzzlement, Reetak commented the arrivals. "The small one was found attached to the other" Understanding dawned in Tanith's mind, and he rejoined the Jaffa in a jeering chuckle.

"Unbelievable, isn't it, my lord ? Women commanding warriors - well, no wonder they folded so fast before us !"

"Indeed, Reetak. Didn't I tell you how decadent and weak the Tollans were ? See how I was right !"

Tanith approached the uniformed woman, looking at her haughtily. Her escorts had forced her to kneel down, and he remarked that she seemed to favor one leg over the other, trying her best not to wince and show pain. To his delight, the captive avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes away and down. He glanced aside at Reetak. "I see she already learnt some proper manners"

The Prime's grin became harder. "I gave her a personal lesson during the trip, my lord. A much needed one, I may say. Obviously the women of this world don't know their proper place." He made a tutting noise in reproach. "No respectable Jaffa woman would be so bold and insolent" Lip curling in disgust, he almost spat out. "And their conduct…" His eyes flitted from the tamed officer to the half-naked girl behind, who hadn't needed any obedience lesson. She had shown proper fear from the get-go as she was manhandled out of the captured underground fortress and into the waiting transport, flinching away from her captors' touch. No doubt she had expected to be raped here and now !

Well, it was too bad they were in a hurry to report back to lord Tanith.

Kain felt strong fingers grip her chin and force her head up. Wincing in pain from the bruises on her face, she gathered the courage to look directly at her captor, trying not to appear too belligerent doing so. Her eyes met the Goau'ld's, and his flashed the characteristic gold radiance of the parasitic species.

A male distorted voice, unnaturally deep and resonant, addressed her in perfect Tollan.

"I am the god Tanith. Learn to bow before me as your lord and master"

_Fuck you_, Kain wanted to say. Instead, she merely avoided his gaze, keeping her lips tightly pressed together. Besides, opening her mouth hurt. The none-too-gentle handling and numerous cuffs she had received at the hand of the brutal Jaffa had made her lips rather bloody and tumefied.

The alien lord's face towering above her smirked as if in anticipation. The voice spoke again.

"I see your hidden defiance, woman. Perhaps it is commendable. I don't doubt you feel loyal to your misguided leadership. But" he paused, looking at the beleaguered city beyond the transparent bay "resistance is futile, as you personally have experienced today. Your worlds will fall one after the other. This one" he tapped his foot on the deck as if to designate the ground below "is already under my thrall, and your pitiful army won't be able to do anything about it."

He began to walk to and fro, glancing aside at the kneeling Tollan, projecting godly assurance. Kain's eyes followed him from under her lowered brow.

"It is time to submit. It is your people's only chance. They will surrender and serve me if they want to live." His voice became flat and forbidding. "Else, they will die. Every last Tollan man, woman and child will burn alive as my divine wrath consumes their cities."

A pause, to let the threat sink in. His manner turned less rigid, more conciliating, he flicked his wrist dismissively. "But, you see, I can be merciful." He smiled at the kneeling woman.

"If you truly want to help your people, then you will help me."

_Here we are,_ the commander thought.

"You see, I didn't want your facility destroyed." His grin became wider. "In fact, I expected the shield to remain active. After all, my ships are already in position here."

Kain wanted to curse herself. She should have thought of this ! The active shield prevented the Tollan vessels to get in, but the Ha'taks were sitting safely inside !

"My warriors have captured this planet's primary power generation facility as well. No doubt, studying it will yield benefits for me and my associates" A working zero-point field powertap was worth the whole operation alone. "Therefore, I only need your code to be in full command of the global forcescreen. Oh yes, your biometric signature was child play to reproduce. I am a god, am I not ?" The trailing snigger grated the woman's ears. She looked up blankly.

"You will give me your encryption key. I could probably divine it, but it would take some time and annoy me. You don't want me to get annoyed, do you, woman ?"

_I want you to die in hell, asshole._

Seconds ticked away without a sound.

"I see. Then we will do it the hard way. Hard for you, naturally" Crystalline laughter echoed on the gold-plated walls.

The Tollan commander did a mental double-take when the Goaul'd didn't halt in front of her, but instead behind. Her Jaffa wardens pulled her up and pivoted her to face Tanith and the other prisoner.

The Goau'ld's right hand rose, light glimmering on the gold-and-platinum ribbon device coating his palm and fingers. Savian's eyes opened wide, her pretty features contorted in abject terror.

"Please no please I don't know anything oh please…" Tanith ignored the frantic whimpers, glancing instead at Kain.

"Are you going to let your lover suffer this agony ?" he asked maliciously.

The Tollan woman's blood-crusted cheeks turned away. She couldn't stand to watch this, and she couldn't betray her secrets. She fought back the urge to leap up and tear the arrogant bastard's throat. In her weakened state, she wouldn't even budge the grip of her two guardians.

The girl's imploring eyes welled with fresh tears as her silent plea was seemingly ignored by the woman she loved. A loud sob shook her shoulders.

Tanith briefly rolled his eyes, and thought-commanded the hand-device to activate. The familiar rich yellow-orange glow sprang from the bejeweled palm, bathing the Tollan female's forehead. The arcane flux of radiant pain penetrated her skull, reaching her brain and artificially inducing excruciating torment. Radiance seemed to escape from her eyes and mouth, opened wide now and screaming hoarsely. Her body tensed and shook uncontrollably under the Jaffas' binding pressure, as whirling scalpels danced like a tornado in her head and arrowed along every nerve of her body, forcing out any thought or perception other than pure, refined pain.

Her voice died out even, ragged nightmarish rasps coming in shaking fits from her throat.

Then the pain was cut, the sudden interruption almost overpowering her blanked out mind and sending her into catatonia. Her head lolled on her chest, dribbing saliva stretching to the sweat-drench fabric that clung to her rapidly-heaving chest. Her entire form hung limp with only the Jaffas' hands under her armpits for support, and a pungent smell wafted from the puddle of urine soaking the floor under her.

The warriors remained impassible, accustomed as they were to the stink they encountered so often on a battlefield. Tanith feigned a small grimace of disgust.

"Not very resilient, the little slut" he commented in a calculated insulting tone. He made a sweeping glance at the Jaffas. "See ? What does it say of Tollan men, when little wimpy things like this have to take another _woman_ as lover ?"

The warriors all grinned and chuckled, relishing the moment of familiarity with their god and master.

"What do you have to say…" their lord spat in Kain's direction "cunt ?"

It took all her remaining self-control not to seethe openly and growl at the tormentor. She continued to look away, determined not to betray any emotion. Of course, Tanith wouldn't have it. His left hand darted to her neck and twisted her into facing him.

"Nothing ? You would let your precious lover die in such pain and humiliation out of your sense of duty." He examined her briefly and turned away, grabbing next a handful of the quietly sobbing girl's hair, lifting her visage toward him. He looked closely, checking her apparent state, and satisfied that she was still able to understand : "Poor little doll. You thought she loved you, didn't you ? I bet that realizing how little you're worth to her feels even worse than the pain I just inflicted you." He relished the spark in her red and swollen eyes. She was realizing indeed. By the primordial waters, he thought, it was so much fun toying with the vulnerable mind of such a weak inferior creature.

"As I said, I can be merciful. I see that killing you wouldn't make her" he gestured at Kain "any more cooperating. I guess I'll have to just torture her instead" he sighed loudly. "As to your miserable person" he cocked his head back with even more arrogance "I have no further use for it."

His wrist flickered contemptuously. Addressing the two Jaffas instead : "Take her back to the holding cell. You may rape her if you want, but do not harm her body permanently. She will be added to this world's captives to be sold in slavery, when I head back to my capital".

The two warriors's scarred and weathered faces split into a wide grin and the leftmost one answered first.

"My lord, you are indeed the most generous !"

Tanith nodded indulgently.

"This is but a small starter. There will be more, much more loot to reward my brave warriors. Now, go !" He waved his hand dismissively. Obediently, the pair of soldiers pulled their charge up and away, dragging her out of the pel'tak.

When they were out of sight, Tanith turned back to the remaining prisoner. His face turned cold and hard.

"Now, whore. You will learn the meaning of pain !"

xxxxxx

Kain gritted her teeth and prepared mentally for the coming ordeal as best as she could.

It wasn't enough. After what seemed like an eternity spent drowning in a sea of bone-snapping agony, the vicious light shut off, leaving her quasi-blind and reeling. Clinging to sanity, she felt every fiber of her being torn and excruciatingly sensitive, every motion, even the most minute, an aching after-shock in her limbs. The taste of blood was strong again in her mouth, and she knew she had voided her bowel as well. She didn't care. She just wanted the pain to leave and never come back, even if it meant her death.

Tanith judiciously chose the moment to destroy this hopeless wish.

"You cannot escape through death. I can ressuscitate you, over and over, and make you wish you were never born. In the meantime, my armies are strengthening my hold on this world. In the end, your defiance means nothing, so you should really spare yourself further suffering."

He smiled wickedly. "You still have the opportunity to make your future fate easier… if not yours, at least you could spare your lover the fate that's currently awaiting her. Spending the remainder of her life as sexual relief for brutal men, when she isn't doing such chores as cleaning up dirty latrines. And breeding many little Jaffas for me !"

The truth of his words bore into Kain's mind, battering at her will. Savian, sweet gentle Savian… she didn't deserve such a fate. Yet the commander was still torn between fear, compassion and her sense of duty.

Her Goaul'd captor sensed the turmoil behind the woman's grimy, weary features, the weakening of her physical and mental strength. She only needed a little more motivation.

He walked to his throne, yet didn't sit, instead he put his hand on the armrest's control interface. Accessing the ship's obedient intelligence, he accessed the network of interior sensors and found the precise area he was interested in.

The pel'tak's holographic viewer flickered into life, set to display the visual take from the holding cell where the Tollan girl was being detained, and the related soundtrack flooded the room.

Kain flinched as she recognized what was happening. She pressed her eyes shut, but the afterimage of Savian's denuded body splayed under the metal-clad bulk of a Jaffa lingered in her vision, and she couldn't prevent her ears from hearing the cries and supplications mixed with moans of pain and anguished sobs. Even more disgusting were the male grunts of pleasure coming from the scene.

Tears of sorrow and pity welled up in the corner of her eyes. Almost against her conscious will, her mouth opened awkwardly and her slurred voice asked for mercy.

"St-stop t-this !"

"Only you can make it stop, commander" Tanith whispered back, bent close to her ear.

She flinched again, unable to control her feeling of distress, her mental defenses weakened by the brutal torture session. Her neck bent even lower, as if to shield her face from sight, hiding her shame behind the loose curtain of her hair. She let out the fatal secret in a broken voice, one Tollan letter and number after another, the last ones in a barely audible murmur.

The Goau'ld straightened up and repeated the sequence aloud. The mothership's central computer core translated it, using the conversion programs specially installed before the invasion, and sent a subspace signal to the remote terminal waiting under Vanitas Peak, grafted onto the Tollan control circuits by a Kull Warrior. The Goaul'd databomb inserted its forged signal into the Tollan logic stream, fooling it into thinking Commander Kain was physically present and inputing her code. As soon as it was entirely injected and authenticated, control of the shield emitter was released from lock, the outsmarted Tollan computer believing it had just done its duty.

On _Merciless_' bridge, a feedback message flashed on a secondary screen, confirming that, as of now, Tanith was fully in control of the planet's primary line of defense.

Elated, he turned back to Kain's prostrate form.

"Well, you just helped me save some of my precious time," he smiled genially, adding a little flourish with his arm. "I guess I'll let you live." Looking from the woman to her wardens, he started to address them. "You can take her out of here…-" He was cut off by Kain's urgent voice.

"Wait ! You said you would spare her !"

An ominous instant passed as Tanith's mouth hung open without emitting a sound, and his eyes flashed in anger. "How dare you interrupt me, impudent wench !" He took a step forward, radiating menace, and stopped just short of the slick area of wet floor around the soiled female. Unlike his Jaffas, he didn't want nor needed to come into contact with the foul piss-coated floor. And it was a good thing the Tollan wore pants too, he reflected.

Cocking back his head, he spoke in the captive's mother tongue. "Did you think you sluts deserve a preferential treatment ?"

"But… you promised !"

A slow shake of his head. "I did not promise anything. Why would a god make promises to worthless inferior beings such as you ?" He switched to Goau'ld speak.

"Remove this foul worm from my pel'tak. Strip her naked and throw her into a cell."

The Jaffas nodded. "We obey, my lord !" They hefted the woman up, trying to keep as far as possible from her shit-smelling body, and started to drag her away. As they closed to the bridge's exit, one of them looked back with an expectant expression. "My lord ! Are we to keep her untouched ?"

Their master's tongue flickered briefly on his mouth, which curled up minutely.

"Hmmm." He adopted a thoughtful attitude, left arm folded across his chest, right elbow standing on the supporting forearm, two fingers crossing his lower lip, and appeared to think for a brief moment. Both warriors, as well as the disbelieving Kain, were delightfully suspended at his mouth.

He gave his answer at last.

"You may clean her up and use her as you wish, you and everyone of my warriors, provided of course they aren't on duty."

"Thank you, my lord !"

"Oh. And send some servants here to clean up that mess"

"Kree, my lord !"

He smirked mirthfully as he took in the Tollan's expression of betrayal and furor, and her screams and curses were music to his ears in the time it took the Jaffas to drag her out of sight.

**Dante Base, Luna, Solar System**

**The next day**

Anton de Polignac's mind was blissfully blank. There was nothing like a good round of exercise at the gymnasium followed by a vigorous bodyrub by two pretty serfs. It certainly beat sitting in the conference room listening to the scientists reporting the discoveries they'd made on the latest explored world, a planet that showed no sign of Goau'ld presence and bore the provisional name of _Flowersong_. One of the eggheads had come up with the slightly poetic name after the scientific team had started to uncover the humanoid inhabitants' peculiarity. Those had posed no threat whatsoever to the preliminary recon team headed by one Tetrarch Jourdain, who had been adamant on leading an exploratory mission at least once. As she had put it "Ah havn't joined the bloody Army to babysit yo' ass, Merarch !"

His sensitive ear told him another Draka had entered the massage room. He knew it was a Citizen, for he didn't actually hear him, instead he heard the unoccupied serfs scurry forward.

He opened an eye just as the lead serf greeted the newcomer. His gaze crossed hers, for it was none other than the tetrarch herself. He made a little salute with his finger, and she stepped to the adjacent massage bed, followed by another pair of attendants, a male and a female, similarly clad in the light thigh-length tunic that constituted their uniform. The Drakensis woman was already disrobed and her skin had the characteristic sheen of time spent in the sauna.

She smiled at him, laying down on her belly.

"Anton, I knew you'd be there"

"You just can't get enough of my company, eh ?" he answered lightly. "So you left those poor eggheads alone with Thomas, did you ?" he added in mock reproach.

She shrugged, the motion coming strangely in her prone position.

"Bah. Listening to them blabber about how extraordinary it is to discover a species of humanoid beings living in a symbiotic relationship with some oversized plants gets boring fast"

"Well, it is an extraordinary discovery" Anton countered. "Another servant race for the Yoke. And they seem pliable enough."

"Oh sure, they're completely passive, yo' mean. Can't even leave their precious flowers alone or they die. Just what is the Race supposed to do with 'em ? We don't need an entire planet worth of fooking gardeners !"

"Ah, I'm sure the science directorate will find a way for those to serve us. Besides, they might have useful genes"

"If the next genetic mod turns me into a vegetarian I'll fucking strangle the whole directorate with my treehugging arms !" the woman exclaimed, making her companion laugh in return.

Minutes passed in silence as both Drakas enjoyed the relaxing touch of the massaging hands, rubbing and soothing limbs that were being worked even harder than usual to compensate for Luna's low gravity. Yet Polignac couldn't shake the feeling that his fellow woman had something else to say. It was subtle signs that none other than another Drakensis could catch, like the faint off-taste of her natural scent or the way her eyes didn't look as steady in his presence.

The tetrarch and himself had been having casual sex for a long time, and by no mean was it exclusive, but he'd been suspecting a deeper interest from her lately. Not that he minded ; Jourdain was attractive and smart - of course every Drakensis was - and he did fancy her, if he had to be honest with himself. And there was the biological urge to procreate firmly set in the New Race's genome by their parents. He'd felt it more insistent lately, and she had to, as well. Danger seemed to sharpen that particular instinct, and while they'd been successful so far, both were conscious that they stood at the Domination's frontline against the threats lurking in the galaxy.

"Anything you'd like to tell me, Alex ?" he decided to incite her into coming out.

He knew he'd been on spot when she couldn't refrain a tight rueful smile.

"That's unnaturally perceptive of you, Anton" she gently mocked. As he made up a pained expression, she sighed softly and gazed squarely at him.

"Oh well… the worst thing you can do is say no, so…" she inhaled firmly.

"I want to have a baby, and I want you to be the father."

Her statement produced a fleeting pause that affected everything in the room, from the stroking hands to Anton's breathing.

"Ooooh." He exhaled slowly, his face blank, and caught the expectant look in Alexandra Jourdain's features. "Well…" he broke into a smile. "I wouldn't mind producing an addition to the Race. I suppose you're going to use a surrogate ?"

"Of course, I wouldn't interrupt my duties here, if that's what you mean"

Polignac's arm extended, and his hand met the woman's. Fingers able to bend steel joined and squeezed in unison.

"So be it."

As both Drakas united their hands, smiling at each other, the serfs around them grinned joyfully and the male close to Jourdain spoke first.

"Congratulations, Masters !"

A chorus of cheers and good wishes followed, all of them sincere as _servi_ were bred to be, loyal, loving, and obedient. Their enthusiasm was further proven when the three cheerful serf girls boldly spoke the same question at the same time.

"Mistress, do you have a brooder already ?"

More laughs followed, shared by _servus _and _Drakensis_ alike.

They died out when the urgent beeping of Anton's personal com-unit started. Frowning lightly, he reached out and brought it close to his face.

"Polignac here. What is it ?"

The voice of the duty officer at Command Central rose up from the device.

"Merarch, we have a situation"

Anton turned on his side, propping hiself on his right elbow, alertness replacing the smile on his face.

"Tell me"

"It's Abydos, sir. They have just received a message from the Tollan. One of their planets is being invaded by the Goaul'd… and they're asking for our help."


	16. Chapter 16

And the story continues. Hope you'll enjoy (and review :-) !

**Chapter 16**

**Between Charybdis and Scylla**

**Satria Central Districts**

**Nautona, Tollan Empire**

"Cenor, I'm so afraid !"

In the dark gloom of the emergency shelter, lit only by feeble glowstrips, forms huddled in clumps, silent but for low whispers and occasional louder sobs and curses. The Goa'uld invasion had torn the Satrian urbanites from their sunny pleasant day-to-day life, the sirens and public alert messages throwing surprised and distressed crowds into a mad scramble for shelter from the aerial bombardments and ground assaults. It was a testimony to the Tollan society's sense of order that the city didn't devolve into mass anarchy, yet this had perhaps more to do with the haste to reach a safe refuge and fear of the Jaffa onslaught than any innate civic sense.

It was even worse, for large parts of the intricate civil administration responsible for the daily upholding of law, order and safety in any civilized society were already gone, burning or blown to bits by plasma fire. There didn't seem to be any semblance of organized resistance, instead isolated clumps of armed civilians and law enforcement personnel tried to hold onto whatever hasty improvised defensive position they could find, and whenever their resistance held up the Jaffa advance for an significant amount of time, air strikes came in, strafing runs by Death Gliders swooping from above and soaring again, leaving burning wreckage and scattered limbs behind them.

The Tollan city was rapidly falling house by house, block by block, park by park, under Tanith's rule, and it didn't look like anything could oppose the fact. Certainly not the fleet assets orbiting helplessly above, unable to breach the planetary shield even if they wanted to. Besides, the rampaging squadrons of fast attack craft left behind by the Ha'taks still roamed at large in the system, attacking isolated installations and ships and retreating whenever Tollan gunships attempted to close in.

Worse, picket sensors in other Tollan systems reported other Goa'uld incursions, none of them by capital ships, and systematically hypering away when detected, but the threat was obvious. The enemy was keeping the Imperial forces under pressure, forcing them to keep naval assets scattered in local defensive postures.

But the civilians gathered inside the shelter didn't know any of this. They only knew that their fairly orderly routine had been brutally interrupted, and that their lives were in mortal danger. It wasn't a pleasant realization when you grew up in a modern, safe and affluent society where most violence consisted in private disputes gone sour or rowdy drunk sports fans.

The young woman who had just spoken her fears sat in a corner of the low vaulted subterranean bunker, a centuries-old relic of the pre-Unification era, when old separate states still occasionally warred over the newly-colonized planet. It had been a very long time indeed since the grey-painted bunker had welcomed refugees inside its cool walls, its presence only remembered through the bright and regularly maintained emergency notice panel standing over the thick outer doors set in the basement wall of an old commercial building. Civil regulations had forced the successive owners to maintain it and keep it accessible as well as clearly indicated, and they had done so, despite their believing that it was an antiquated and useless necessity.

Now the building's owner silently blessed the forethought. When the attack had come, he had rushed down to open the shelter, then instructed his personnel to guide the store's patrons toward safety. He was rather proud of their professionalism : they had prevented the onset of panic, and channeled everyone down in a short amount of time. A few more people had rushed in, passerbys caught in the street far from their homes or jobs ; then he had sealed the bunker's two sets of doors, the upper one and the thicker, heavier one at the bottom of the access stair.

Now they all waited. Unfortunately, there wasn't a datanet port, and radio waves didn't penetrate down there. They were cut off from information, their only link to what was happening outside being the faint artificial tremors felt through the tough concrete floor. Those were in no way reassuring.

Nevertheless, the young man going by the name of Cenor tried to comfort his girlfriend, hugging her tightly. Her head was buried against his chest, he could smell the familiar scent of flowers from her regular shampoo. He bent down and gave her blonde hair a soft kiss, hugging her tighter. Her warmth radiated straight into his body, and that somehow made it easier to support the precariousness of their situation.

He patted the back of her head. "Don't worry, Natylis. Everything will be fine, I'm sure"

In truth, he was sure of nothing. The mere thought that a Goa'uld invasion could actually happen on a Tollan core world was profoundly unsettling. Such an event was considered impossible… right before it happened. Could anything be certain any more ?

Someone else voiced his latent question.

"I can't believe this is all happening. Where's the Navy ? Why aren't they doing their job ?"

The man's tone was angry and upset. He clearly didn't understand how the powerful Tollan navy could let them down.

The landlord tried to placate him, answering from the other corner of the room, aloud but in a conciliating voice, intended for everyone, not only for the well-dressed middle-aged man who had just spoken.

"I'm sure they are doing their best. We must remember that the Goa'uld are very powerful and have a large empire… they could throw more ships and men at us than we have to defend ourselves"

"Oh come on ! Why didn't they do it long before then ? I'll tell you : someone in the government made a mistake, and we're all going to pay for it as usual !"

Murmurs and muted rumbles of agreement answered from the shelter's denizens. Words of "treason" and "incompetence" sounded from several places, and the rumor increased as others offered counter-arguments and declarations of support for the Tollan leadership. Old fractures started to reappear, ideological divides almost forgotten during peacetime. Now that danger was close, discord reared its ugly head again.

"Fucking imperialists" spat a thin old woman, features hard in a narrow face, white hair held neatly in a pleated bun. She elaborated as her neighbors turned toward her. "Nautona was free before the Empire came with their ships and threw my people under their rule !" A moment of silence followed as everyone else took in her appearance. She wore the green and red colors of the Nautona Freedom Party, the fringe movement claiming the right for conquered world to secede from the Empire. The movement had been strong in the past, plunging its roots in the local resistance toward Unification, back when the newly coalesced nation-states of Tolla, united at last after a long period of conquest and political maneuvering, had expanded their rule to the neighbouring colony worlds. None of those had taken well to the sudden tighter integration used as they were to managing their own affairs without much outside interference.

While peace and abundance progressively won over the younger generations to Imperial rule, helped in that by the Franchise granting everyone full citizen status, old grief and resentment remained festering among some of the elders, usually muted but for the NFP's political activism.

"Oh please, do you really think the Goa'uld would have respected an independent Nautona's sovereignty ?" the first middle-aged speaker shot back. "If so then you're a damn fool !"

"Fool yourself," the elderly opponent hissed in return "all of you Tollan-lovers and collaborators…-" she was cut off by and angry retort.

"Shut your mouth, you old hag ! People like you should be the first to face the Jaffas if you're so hot about you fucking independance !"

The landlord leapt with surprising speed, pushing himself between the two opponents as they both stood up and made it toward each other. He spoke loud and authoritatively, eyeing both of them in turn.

"Now stop this, damn it ! We don't need that sort of behaviour, here and now ! If you intend to pick a fight then by the star elders I'll throw both of you out and you'll finish your argument outside !"

He glared at them, and after a few seconds, both turned away and sat back in ponderous silence.

**Tollania, Capital of the Tollan Homeworld**

**The Curia Building**

An emergency meeting was convened as soon as word of Tanith's invasion attempt reached the Empire government body. The eleven elected councilors were all present (in three cases, their holographic projection, transmitted by secure encrypted subspace com) around the semi-circular table, almost overwhelmed by the foreboding tactical plot shown in the central holotank displaying the malignant gold-coded Goa'uld presence in the Nautona system. Secondary holowindows hung around, their geometry appearing the same way to every councilor, the charts and figures they contained drove home, in their dry mathematical way, the appalling extent of the Tollan military and civilian losses in-system.

By now everyone who could had evacuated, the fleeing refugee ships escorted by ITN vessels up to the hyperlimit where they punched a course straight to the Home System. That left millions trapped on Nautona's surface, in cities and towns invested by Jaffa shock infantry. The remaining naval forces were unable to do anything, for Tanith had somehow gained control of the planetary defense grid. Not only did the global shield protect the almost-landed Ha'taks, but in addition subverted surviving ion batteries had taken potshots at friendly Tollan ships, crippling a heavy cruiser and damaging two destroyers before the rest pulled away.

Even _Disceia_, the command station, had to be evacuated preemptively, though for some reason the enemy left it alone.

In short, it was a disaster, the worst in Tollan history.

Information was locked down so far, as the subspace intersystem transmitters were government-controlled, but sooner or later someone would wonder why Nautonian addresses didn't respond to queries and requests on the global datanet.

Besides, the first refugee ships would arrive in no later than two days, their slower civilian-spec hyperdrives granting that much respite. There was no realistic hope of preventing news of Nautona's fall from disseminating once they made realspace transit on the well-traveled system hyperlimit. Which meant the imperial leadership had two days at most to retake Nautona… or at least find some positive news to offset the predictable public outcry.

Not to mention save their Curia seats. Already the atmosphere had gone sour with political recrimination and accusations. One hawk-stance councilor had almost gleefully thrown at his colleagues from across the political divide their past opposition to an increase of the naval procurement and research budget. The money had gone instead to social funds and artistic grants.

He was still ranting away, in a jubilant accusative "I-told-you-so" tone, unfazed by the cries of foul play coming from the opposite side of the U-shaped bench, and buoyed by applause and supporting shouts by his associates. It was a good thing Curia emergency sessions were not broadcast live, the council's senior member and _de jure_ chairman decided, mulling over the choices he had. On one hand, he rather approved of the speaker's argument. In his own opinion, the Empire had been too complacent in the past decades. But then how could they have justified a larger military allotment, when the last Goa'uld incursion had happened almost half a century ago and Tollan hardware had proven itself time and time again able to destroy a Ha'tak in barely more than one shot ?

It had all seemed so sensible to reduce public expenditure instead, and focus it on public works and projects.

Of course, now all those glittering schools, lavishly equipped hospitals, immaculately manicured parks and high-standing urban developments seemed to stand at the mercy of some Goa'uld bastard with a god complex, a lasting grudge and access to much-improved technology.

Eventually the elder elected took a deep breath under his neatly-trimmed white beard, and grabbed the red-painted handle of the silencer field. He exhaled and pulled the small lever, activating the chamber's active sound-suppression system. At once, the din subsided. The speaker's mouth continued to work for a couple of seconds before he realized no sound was produced, and then he looked at the raised seat at the head of the U-table. He was followed by everyone else. The Curia president waited as every pair of eyes in the room turned to his direction, then released the lever and began to speak.

"Please, fellow councilors…" he made a face like a schoolteacher berating rowdy pupils "will we cease this kind of nonsense ? We are in a difficult time and Tolla needs us to show strength and unity of purpose, not fruitless bickering !"

He paused, taking the time to stare everyone in turn. The previous speaker shrugged apologetically and sat down.

"Now, I don't want to hear any more recriminations. The past is the past, what is done is done and cannot be unmade…" he shook himself mentally. He needed to keep his tendency to verbal flourish under control. "I want to hear serious constructive proposals. We owe it to our fellow citizens, first of all the beleaguered inhabitants of Nautona !"

A rumble of approval echoed around the table, then the previously ranting official raised his hand.

"Councilor Damoros of Demarchoi" the presiding one acknowledged "The Curia recognizes you."

The man rose up, made a curt bow and began to speak in a serious but non-confrontational tone.

"Elder Lata-Berim, fellow Councilors" he nodded left and right "as I needn't tell you, the situation is grave indeed." He made a sweeping gesture at the holotank. "Tanith's forces have secured control of the planet Nautona and its defense grid, and driven away our space squadrons. His Jaffa infantry has an ever-expanding foothold ground-side and what remains of our military on-planet is in no-position to contest them the battlefield. Furthermore, the civilian population is at Tanith's mercy, and we can expect him to use them as hostages against a space-borne assault. Not that we could even mount one as long as the global shield's operating under his control."

"Yes, yes, we know all that" the opposition leader interrupted dryly. "My contacts in the admiralty told me they're assembling an expeditionary force even as we speak, though."

Damoros nodded at the immaculately dressed grey-haired female across the chamber, granting her the validity of her remark, and made a narrow, grim smile.

"Of course, of course, Councilor Lomarr. I happen to have the same information" the unspoken subtext being _whatever links you have in the military, mine are tighter_ "but we all know that our ground force doesn't have the training and equipment to deal with such an unprecedented situation. Especially since our previous ace card was rendered inoperative." He let the fact sink in, and nobody tried to contest it. "Therefore, our soldiers will inevitably suffer heavy losses -if they even find a way to Nautona's soil, because none of our ships can cross the planetary shield !"

"I'm sure they will find a way" the female councilor asserted, but her voice was lower and her tone lacked firmness.

Her colleague made a grim chuckle, shaking his head. "No, we can't be sure - the only thing we can be sure of, is this : for the first time in our past history, were are outclassed and outplayed by the Goa'uld. We need help"

His last statement sparked another bout of skeptical commenting and arguing around the table, but this time it died out without any need to use the silencer field.

"And just who do you propose we ask for help, my dear friend ?" Lomarr asked with a hint of sarcasm. "Surely not the Nox, I gather ?" A few snickers welcomed her quip. The other man remained impassible.

"Asking the Nox for help is about as useful as pissing in the Trantsch sea to color it yellow" he answered undiplomatically, the slang expression not exactly belonging to the dignified Curia chamber. The Trantsch sea was a popular holiday location with its sandy tropical islands and its clear blue waters were famed around the Empire.

"No. As you certainly know, we have made contact recently with a newly-discovered human power…"

"Oh" Lomarr mouthed almost dismissively "you mean those Drak-something…"

"The Domination of the Draka" Damoros pronounced the foreign words without hesitation.

"Yes, the _Dra-ka"_ the female politician repeated, the unfamiliar syllables sounding exotic in her mouth. "How could they help us ? According to the Diplomatic Service, they don't even have FTL ships"

A controlled smile welcomed her observation.

"My estimed lady, you must have skimmed the report if that's all you retained from it" a hand rose placatingly before she could make an angry retort "the military attache to the delegation we sent came back with a very different estimation of their military capability." He glanced at the Lata-Berim. "If I may call up the relevant documentation ?"

"You may, Councilor"

Damoros used his personal flatboard to replace the Nautona system schematic with excerpts from the Draka mission report. Text scrolled down in the air, flanked by illustrative pictures and videos. He was pleased to see his colleagues gape at the looming shapes rotating with photonic-created reality.

"Just… what is this beast ?" a wide-eyed Lomarr uttered at last.

The other councilor smirked. "This" his arm swept at the battle-armored ghouloon "is a genetically-engineered shock trooper created by the Domination. Bigger, faster, stronger, more resilient than any Jaffa. Its armor can take multiple staff weapon hits and if it runs out of rifle ammunition, it can simply tear enemies apart with its bare hands. The Drakas have entire regiments of them."

He called up another item, a two-dimensional video which, from its quality and occasional stuttering, had to come from a headset recording. It showed what was obviously a sparring room, similar to the ones used on Tolla by martial arts practitioners. In the middle of it, two… people stood face to face, dressed in black bodygloves that didn't conceal any line and curve of their anatomy. Low gasps were heard among the councilors as they realized the fighters were female… inhumanly fit and muscular ones, although they exhibited a panther's graceful, flowing strength rather than the bulky mass of iron-pumpers.

Then mouths hung open in stunned silence as the standing shapes abruptly dissolved in a blur of barely-discernible strikes and counter-strikes, holds and counter-holds, faster than anyone had the right to be.

"Tell me this is sped-up footage" Lomarr asked to no-one in particular, though Damoros answered her. "No, it isn't. And they're not pulling their punches either"

"Great mother" another councilor cried out as a lightning-fast kick connected with an unprotected solar plexus, throwing its target to slam in the far wall and ending the fight. "She should be dead !" he added as the defeated woman stood up, wincing only slightly and rubbing her sharply delineated abdominal muscles, clearly more upset at having lost the match than from any physical discomfort. Both combatants exchanged what sounded like guttural words then clasped forearms. As they half glided half walked out of the sparring mat, the camera turned away and focused on a man in a Tollan Ground Force commander's uniform who was quietly conferring with another, much taller and whose body-structure clearly marked him as belonging to the same people as the female fighters. His uniform was grey, less form-fitting than the sparring garment yet plainly revealing his athletic chest and upper arms. The video then froze.

"These are the people who made our Goa'uld friend Bar'shan prisoner after he tried to attack one of their planets, then utterly annihilated his palace and remaining Jaffa army, saving one of our men in the process" the Tollan councilor added.

"Did they ? That's…" his counterpart trailed out, still mesmerized by the incredibly hunky alien soldier.

"That was in the classified report as well" Damoros mischievously completed.

Another Curia member rose up. "Who says they'll want to help us ? And… at what price ?" he inquired aloud, drawing a buzz of assent. "I know that Intelligence isn't so utterly enthusiastic about those Draka"

"Bah ! I assume you're alluding to Director Tresim, don't you ?" Damoros received a blank expression in return, and went on nevertheless. "He's a professional paranoiac… as befits his position, naturally," other chuckles echoed his own slightly condescending smile "but I think that we should look at the immediate benefits, especially in this grave hour" he finished in a concerned voice, cutting off the last derisive comments as all turned dead serious again.

The other man didn't desist, though.

"Yet Tresim was right when he warned us about the need to be wary about the Goa'uld."

"Well, Intel has been saying that for what, centuries ?" the Demarchoi-born councilor retorted. "They still failed to predict their sudden and recent progress."

His interlocutor half nodded, half shook his head and sat down, conceding the point, and Damoros pressed on. "We need to contact the Draka and find out if they can provide assistance. We need to do it soon, for every passing hour means more of our fellow Tollan dead or under Goa'uld servitude !"

A chorus of assent sounded around the table, and the decision was made to send another delegation to Abydos, without delay.

In the Curia's defense, little did they know back then that one breed of servitude could hide another.

**Dante Base, Complex A, Conference Room**

**Solar System**

Although the waiting room was bright and painted in light cheerful tones, the three Tollan representatives were far from feeling comfortable. There was an easy explanation, of course. The circumstances under which they had left Tollania were gloomy at best, and there was no certainty that their request would receive a favorable answer. After all, one didn't willingly pick a fight with the System Lords if they could help it, and it wasn't like Tollan-Draka relations were so old and tight that the latter would automatically find it in their interest to help the former. However, the urgency of the circumstances had driven the Curia to allow generous concessions in the balance.

Still. Sitting under the gaze of several stone-faced Drakas made each delegate feel like the proverbial bird in the cage, with the hungry housecat outside watching and licking its chops expectantly.

Eventually, they had finished their presentation. A few questions came their way, which they answered as well as they could, and eventually they were invited to wait in a nearby salon, under the attentive care of a serf attendant who managed to offer them adequate refreshments, despite the language barrier. The Tollans didn't try to pursue a conversation anyway, even though the steward was alone with them. He merely stood, making himself busy behind a small bar and humming along discreetly. The only distractions were the paintings scattered on the walls and the spacecraft models presented in glass cases.

At last, the door slid open again and the familiar face of Daniel Jackson leaned in, his expression nigh impenetrable.

"Please follow me. His Excellence the Archon wishes to express his decision."

Wordlessly, the three delegates put down their glasses and sat up, then left the waiting room one after another. The found the conference table just as they'd left it. The wall screens were still displaying the high-ranking Drakas who were remotely taking part in the meeting. The imperial legate tried to make out any sign, positive or negative, in their bearing and expression, and failed. When a Draka put on his game face, he reflected, there was really nothing left to divine.

Once they had all rejoined their seats, Jackson leant forward and flexed his fingers. The resulting _crack_ sounded loud and sharp. Polignac merely sat straight, arms crossed on his chest.

"I will translate for you" the civilian said, then every face turned to the far wall as Eric von Schrakenberg began to talk. The Tollans were not fluent enough in their hosts' language to understand the words or inflexions, and his piercing gaze didn't betray his meaning either. They had to wait until he finished his speech and the doctor translated in precise Goa'uld, finally allowing a faint smile to crease his lips.

"The Archon says your request has been carefully examined, and the Domination of the Draka is prepared to give a favorable answer."

As air escaped their mouth, every Tollan realized they had been holding their breath. They continued to listen, as their interpreter elaborated.

"There are three conditions to be met. One, pertaining to technological transfers."

Agathes tensed unconsciously.

"We expect the Tollan Empire to accept every item of the exchange agreement that was already under negociation before this day. That is, the immediate transfer of all theoretical and practical knowledge in the fields of subspace applications, gravity manipulation, faster-than-light travel, materials science, computing theory, and nanotechnology. On our side, we guarantee the delivery of the medical technology we already agreed to provide, related mainly to life extension, organic regeneration, and cancer treatment".

The Tollan negotiator exhaled quietly. Those terms were actually more reasonable than he feared. And there was nothing about phase shifting - granted, that particular item had never figured on any document submitted to the Drakas. Still, never before had the Empire considered such a comprehensive knowledge grant. In previous occurences, the partner had been either roughly equal, or clearly inferior, therefore dictating much more limited exchanges.

On the other hand, never before had a Core World been invaded successfully.

He nodded slowly to the image of Archon von Schrakenberg. At least this gesture meant the same thing in both cultures, and the distant man took the signal to continue, Daniel Jackson translating afterwards.

"Two, related to military operations aimed at fighting off the Goa'uld invasion and retaking Nautona."

This time, it was Commander Katallax' turn to open his ears wider.

"Ground-side operations will be placed under sole authority of a Citizen Force commander. Space-borne operations will be directed by a joint Tollan-Domination command staff, with the Domination side being the ultimate decisional authority. Citizen Space Force liaison personnel will be detached on Tollan warships as needed."

Part of Katallax' mind started to scream in outrage. _How could those upstarts have the pretention to give orders to the Imperial Navy, on its own turf to boot ?_ The perceived affront to Tollan sovereignty and the disparaging assessment of Tollan military efficiency the Draka demand constituted, grated his sense of pride and patriotism. But then they had a point, his analytical sense countered. And given how the Drakas were under no compulsion to bleed for a Tollan world, yet seriously envisaged to do so… well he couldn't blame them for ensuring their blood would be spent in the best possible fashion.

"Third" Daniel Jackson followed another declaration by the Archon, "The Domination will have priority salvage rights on Goa'uld hardware, not to mention Goa'uld and Jaffa prisoners in the Nautona system. To this effect, Domination military and technical personnel will be granted unrestricted access to the planet and surrounding space after the Goa'uld presence has been fully removed."

Elledia fought back the urge to whistle and raise an eyebrow. The last Drakan demand could after all be construed as the right to occupy a Tollan world. As she mulled over the implications, Daniel Jackson made a good-natured grin, translating the last sentence.

"Naturally, whatever insight we may gain from this would be shared with Tollan authorities"

This was obviously intended to sweeten the deal, she thought.

Now, every pair of eyes turned to Legate Agathes, who appeared to reflect on the Drakan proposal. Ultimately, he would give the Empire's answer, as empowered by the Curia, for time was of the essence and they felt they couldn't afford a delay in reaching an agreement. It was slightly reckless, Elledia felt. She really wasn't comfortable with the fact that the Empire was forced to act with such urgency, dealing with a recently discovered foreign power whose ulterior motivations were not yet fully clear, apart from the obvious need to fend off the threat from the System Lords.

On the other hand, as her eyes inadvertently found and met the Draka scholar's, and she felt a familiar warm tingle between her legs, at least it would give her more opportunities to… learn more.

"On behalf of the Tollan Curia, I accept those conditions" Agathes enunciated.

Katallax' jaw twitched. Elledia exhaled. The Drakas broke their stone mask and allowed themselves to smile in what the foreign delegates hoped was a display of friendliness, and not something else, more sinister. A fleeting picture of herself, bound and naked and her neck bearing a serf tattoo flashed through the Tollan woman's mind, so fast she had trouble deciding if the idea appalled or aroused her. She decided not to delve on this train of thought.

_Well, here we are,_ was Katallax' point of view. _I hope we won't have to regret this later._

**Satria Central Districts**

**Nautona, Tollan Empire**

Hours had passed. The time between tremors had stretched. It seemed that the fighting was abating, as far as the people could tell inside the underground bomb shelter. The question in everyone's mind, of course, was whether it meant the invasion had been repulsed, or the city had fallen.

With no line of communication to the surface, they had no way of finding out, lest they cracked the door open and took a peek outside. So far, nobody was quite impatient enough to try.

At least they had water, and sanitary facilities inside the shelter, something every refugee was thankful for. Left with nothing to do, some were playing games on their wristcoms, others were napping, propped themselves as comfortably as they could on the hard wall.

Cenor cradled the head of his girlfriend on his lap, cushioning her sleep and stroking the soft hair gently like they used to do on the grass-covered, sun-drenched grounds of the Satrian Academy of Arts where they were both students, living the carefree life of sheltered, cherished youth in a peaceful, progressive world. The Goa'uld invasion had fallen like a hammer, shattering the dream-like insouciance and brutally reminding them of the grim dangers looming in the universe-at-large. Whatever happened, Cenor realized, they would never again feel totally secure in the cushy sentiment of Tollan superiority, like they used to without even realizing it before this day. The fall of innocence, he smiled grimly, thinking that is would make a great title for a poem to be written about this fateful date.

Another hour went by in the dark. Then there was a shock and a rumble and everyone woke up at once.

"What was that ?"

The question echoed in several mouths, but none had an answer to provide. As if cued by some sixth sense of inmminent danger, gazes converged on the bunker's entrance. The steel door was almost invisible, set inside a recess at the end of the short access corridor.

No sound came through, yet Cenor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something on the other side. Natylis was awake now, and she whispered, pressing his arm urgently.

"What's happening ? Is anyone coming ?"

The young man diverted his gaze from the distant doorway to the wide blue eyes who were looking up at him, as if begging for reassurance. He mustered the most soothing smile he was able to conjure, and tenderly traced the wide sensual arc of her lips with a finger.

"Shhhh. I'm sure it's nothing, my love"

"Are you s-"

Her question was cut short by a loud resounding boom whose provenance couldn't be mistaken. Someone was knocking on the door, and not too gently either.

Cenor felt the pressure on his arm increase sharply and cursed his powerlessness at dispelling the young woman's fears. Worse, he realized he was sweating despite the cool temperature inside the shelter.

_Boom._

_Boom._

Something wafted to the refugees' nostrils. The smell of burnt paint. Curses and expletives followed as they realized the access corridor's walls were faintly illuminated by an orange glow, whose cause became apparent a short moment later. The steel door's inner face shone a hellish bloom, and heat radiated from it, the closest men and women could feel it on their skin.

The steel plate protecting the shelter's entrance had never been designed to withstand plasma. The metal reddened and lost its hardness, bubbling and deforming. A couple more hits and molten matter splashed out, leaving a heat-blurred hole in the thick panel where the locking mechanism used to be.

Hearts froze inside the underground chamber. The newly created orifice let exterior noise in, the sound of beating feet and harsh voices.

They weren't Tollan, Cenor realized with cold dread. His companions of infortune had reached the same conclusion, and they crowded hurriedly at the far end of the bunker, away from the door, just before it flew open with a resounding clang.

Like creatures unleashed from some nightmare, grey-armored Jaffas poured in, staff weapons crackling with barely-restrained energies, shouting harsh frenzied warcries under the petrified Tollan gazes. A woman started to shriek in protest as a warrior grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her up ; a man close to her was beaten with fists and boots as he tried to rise ; then everything devolved into a frenzy of hysterical shouting and screaming. Cenor watched in frozen dread the building owner stand up and try to interpose himself, shouting at the lead Jaffas with flailing empty hands, only to stagger back with a smoking scorched hole in his chest and collapse to the floor with a look of horrified pain, clutching his spilling intestines in the time it took his eyes to glaze away, his dying form already hidden by the stampeding feet of the warriors coming for the rest of the civilians, and right then the young man felt panic, clutching Natylis desperately and shielding her face with an arm that felt so pathetically weak against the brutal onslaught.

Nothing had prepared him for this, his mind protested, it was unfair !

Thinking became moot as the grey tide reached the couple, and stronger hands than his gripped and pulled, tearing the two lovers apart as they called out each other's name. The Tollan student glimpsed Natylis as she was dragged away by two Jaffas, she was still shouting his name when his eyes were abruptly cut off from her cherished form by a descending flurry of kicks that forced him to curl up on the floor in protective reflex, trying to spare his head and ribs from the gleeful beating.

The battering didn't go on for more than a dozen heartbeats, and he cautiously reopened his eyes. His assailants were now administering their tender mercies to another unlucky fellow, and he strangely felt thankful for that, and guilty, for he wished they would keep beating the other man and leave him alone.

He searched the pandemonium for Natylis, and found her several paces away, and his heart and mind sank brutally. She was trying to fight off the grip of a warrior pinning her arms behind her, twisting and bucking madly, yet her efforts came to naught as two strong hands took hold of her embroidered dress and ripped the delicate fabric apart, scattering torn silver fasteners that clinked on the hard floor. She yelped as the hands assaulted her flesh, squeezing the firm white globes and twisting viciously the pink areolae that Cenor remembered kissing adoringly the previous night.

Natylis spat at the Jaffa's bald leering face, her usual gentle expression turned to a mask of hateful rage that her partner didn't recognize. The Tollan youth flinched as the warrior replied with a wide sweeping slap that left a baleful red welt on her fair skin, yet didn't faze her struggle or cut off the flow of verbal abuse coming from her mouth as the alien soldier tore off the last shred of fabric and fully exposed her pristine nudity to every watching eye, although to Cenor's almost relief, everyone else seemed far too busy to care. The Jaffas were already beginning to push and shove people away and out of the shelter, hitting those who stumbled or didn't hasten enough. Other women were being dragged away in various states of undress, men were bleeding and limping, eyes were blackened and swollen.

Cenor shook himself out of his dazed state. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to him right now, how could he cower flat on the ground while the woman he loved was subjected to this ? He bit his lip in self-disgust. It didn't matter if the warriors killed him, he could never live with the memory of his betrayal if he didn't attempt to save Natylis. Then conscious thought was replaced by reflexive rage as his vision witnessed the Jaffa's filthy grime-encrusted finger roughly violate Natylis' blonde-fuzzed intimacy, drawing a high-pitched shriek from her throat and a greasy laugh from the brutes.

His limbs tensed under him and he prepared himself to leap up, baring his teeth instinctively.

A fraction of a second before he sprang, a heavy boot slammed down on his back, smashing him flat on the floor. The leaden weight pinned him down and the hard tip of a staff weapon was jammed at the base of his skull. A Jaffa voice shouted down at him, and Cenor understood the rude words, having learnt the Goa'uld language in secondary like the majority of Tollan students.

"Stay here, little worm !"

The young man's fists closed in helpless frustration, driving the nails deep in the skin of his palms, wishing the pain, anything, to take his mind out from this nightmarish reality ; and he wept burning tears of dismay, grinding his torn lips on the rough concrete floor.

_No, no, no ! _

He didn't dare look again. The sound was enough, so like her and so unlike her at the same time, like a grotesque parody of her familiar lovesong. The mesmerizingly cruel tune kept hypnotizing him and he didn't move, almost didn't notice the hands rifling through his person, removing his wristcom, identification and currency cards, even the earbuds he used to listen to his favorite music. Nothing remained but one obsessive thought swirling inside his mind.

_This is just a bad dream. I'm going to wake up. This is just a bad dream…_

**Dante Base, Conference Room**

**Solar System**

"So there's no way to go through the shield unless you're in hyperspace, yo' telling us"

Katallax shook his head.

"Pity our prototype Goa'uld-pattern hyperdrive's still months away from completion at the earliest. Although really, I can't believe you didn't try to improve yours during all that time !"

The Imperials winced at the Merarch's observation. In retrospect, it looked like more complacency. The Tollan-designed FTL drive worked and seemed enough given the volume of space they usually operated in, and getting an intact Goa'uld drive from a destroyed Ha'tak was an iffy proposition. The only other possible source for a ready-to-install engine was the Hebridean Republic, and they'd steadfastly said no.

There was also a political reason for the apparent lack of motivation to develop a better model. The Empire was a large entity, and contained heterogenous elements in addition to the fringe ones that plagued any developed society. The idea that anyone with access to a FTL-enabled spaceship could emerge right on top of a populated planet with almost zero reaction time from the authorities just wasn't palatable, especially with the Ghijian Crater marking the site of the biggest terror attack in Tollan history, when a Seritan separatist group had flown an intrasystem tugboat straight down on what was, at the time, the capital of a large pre-Unification state. The huge scar and the eight million victims had since been brandished under the public eye whenever the Navy or some research institute had timidly talked about a better, faster hyperdrive.

Elsewhere, the Domination's war machine rumbled to life, at least the parts that weren't currently engaged in the Pacification campaign. Messages were sent to various Space Force officers, ordering them to report on Luna ASAP. The starry blackness was lit by titanic forces as pulse drives came to life, boosting ships on least-time trajectories to Cislunar space, while on Earth Citizen and reserve Janissary Ghouloon legions went to high alert, anticipating movement orders. Equipment and ammunition was checked and rechecked, troops were briefed on the latest intelligence concerning the Goa'uld and Jaffa, and officers made sure to emphasize the fact that, this time, there should be no indiscriminate raping and looting, "unless they could put the blame on the Jaffas".

On more than one occasion, the statement was answered by a half-serious "what if we kill the witnesses ?", to which the reply was "not if there are too many". Quick courses in the Tollan language were given to Citizen soldiers, while ghouloons were merely told the essentials, including the fact that Tollan civilians were absolutely not to be eaten. Especially children. Those were to be protected in priority, and delivered to medical personnel "for humanitarian purposes".

Special care was given to the symbiote threat, and the need to wear collar protection at all times, as well as watch prisoners and civilians for signs of Goa'uld infection. Military doctors demonstrated the recently-developed medical telemetry upgrades installed on infantry armor. Normally, the biosign readings of a symbiote latching onto a soldier's nervous system would trigger an alert and warn the rest of his unit along with the chain of command. The precaution was expected to prevent Goa'uld possession, and it worked well enough according to the tests done by the Bioscience Directorate.

In the meantime, someone had to find a way to bypass the shield issue. This was proving to be the main hurdle.

"Could we steal a Goa'uld ship somewhere ?"

Katallax made a skeptical moue. "Outside a System Lord's capital world, there's no guarantee to find one in time, and attacking those would be suicidal"

The physically present Drakas exchanged a glance meaning _suicidal for you, maybe_.

"Besides" the Tollan went on "even if by chance we got hold of a Ha'tak somewhere," his lips curled in derision at the preposterous notion "trying to fight off Tanith's ships in Nautona's airspace would be devastating for the planet's population and infrastructure !"

Polignac was sorely tempted to mutter "too bad", but kept it for himself. The Tollan had a point. And their Goa'uld enemy had no less than ten motherships laying around.

Therefore, this particular idea had to be ruled out.

"You said Tanith brought a stargate along, yes ?"

The imperial officer turned to the wall screen where the question had come from. Framed in the display was the raven-tressed Arch-Strategos Schneider, whom Katallax had learned commanded the Domination's space navy. Given the technological gap, she might have been an age of sail wet-navy admiral trying to wrap her mind around the tridimensional, infinite line of sight characteristics of space combat in the Tollan's professional opinion, but she did seem to have a sharp mind. Not that it surprised him by now.

"Indeed, according to the few reports we have received from surviving military personnel ground-side. He's using it to bring more occupation troops and send away captured civilians -" his voice caught momentarily "-likely into extra-planetary slavery."

A moment of silence trailed his sentence.

"Well, this gives us a way of entry" Schneider observed matter-of-factly.

"That's all well and good, and we can even compute the gate address since we know its current location, but there's the small matter of the Jaffa legions camping around !"

Polignac waved his hand dismissively.

"Bah ! Jaffas aren't the problem. As soon as we have a secure beachhead, mopping up those morons will be easy" _and we'll spend ghouloons to do it anyway_ "the problem is, those motherships have to be neutralized before we can properly roll over the Jaffas" he finished seriously. "And there are six of them in Satria alone, which is a substantial force."

"So we draw some away" Schneider picked up.

"And just how do you mean to achieve this ?" Katallax voiced up, half curious half skeptical.

"Well, that's easy. We attack somewhere else."

The three Tollans repressed snorts, but their disbelief had to be obvious, for Schneider raised an eyebrow and cocked her head.

"Your own intelligence says that Tanith cannot have a lot more than those ten motherships. On the other hand, your navy still has powerful reserves. We need to find a place Tanith has to defend."

"You can't be serious ! You're proposing to send our fleet, the only thing standing between the Goa'uld and the rest of our worlds, on some wild chase in the hope that maybe Tanith will dispatch away some of his ships ?" Agathes blurted.

The Drakas remained unfazed.

"Yes." Polignac leaned forward, hard eyes boring at the legate's. "We have a saying here : defensive strategies are for fools !" He continued in a precisely enunciated and forceful voice. "If you're not willing to take risks, you're bound to lose everything ! Right now you're shitting your pants in fear of this Goa'uld, and it needs to stop right now, otherwise we," he made a sweeping gesture at the Draka side of the table "are not going to follow your sinking boat !"

He didn't wait a reply from the astounded delegates, instead driving his argument deeper in a calmer voice. He could smell the whiffs of fear. His own pheromonal control had slipped slightly during his tirade and as a result, the three Tollans looked rather unsettled.

Good, he decided. They needed the shock.

"Besides, we do have our own intel source, as you know. Among other things, Bar'shan gave us coordinates for many worlds held by his fellow Goa'uld, including Tanith. We can crosscheck those with your own data, but there's this," he fiddled with the touch-sensitive interface of the table. Data appeared mirrored on the far wall display, shrinking the windows containing the teleconferencing heads. Strings of gate symbols were overlaid on a zoomed-in galactic map, marking Tanith's presumed planetary possessions. Katallax' eyes flitted to the scale marker and made a quick estimate. The closest was located no more than four days of travel at military speed. His heart leapt. Yes, this idea might possibly work…! Although not in time before the first Nautonan refugees arrived. Oh well, the Curia would just have to deal with the flak.

He heard the Draka officer's voice and forced his attention back to the room.

"A combined assault from space and through the stargate on one of those worlds would be just the kind of threat that Tanith couldn't ignore" Anton was saying. "The ground side we can manage ourselves, and keep in mind that it would be a raid, not an invasion, although it has to look serious enough that our Goa'uld enemy has to detach forces from Nautona."

Agathes started to beam.

"Yes, yes !" he chimed in excitedly. "This is a great idea, don't you think, Commander ?"

Katallax returned the diplomat's hopeful stare, and he felt a smile crack his lips at last.

"It could work, yes. " Then he shook his head minutely. "But it won't rid us of every Ha'tak, and it's going to be a temporary respite at best. No more than three or four hours until the vessels sent to counter our diversion are back"

"Then we'll have to make the most of our window of opportunity." Polignac commented.

"Well, gents, now that we have the outlines of a plan, let's start going over the details" Arch-Strategos Schneider concluded. "There's a lot to do."

**Goa'uld-held planet Lak'nor'te**

**52 hours later**

Millions of years ago, at the height of the Gate-Builders' civilization, they had strived to facilitate and encourage the spread of life across the galaxy, mapping and adding habitable planets and moons to the expanding network of stargates. It wasn't enough, and whenever their probes encountered a celestial body whose orbital characteristics made liquid water possible, it was registered so that years, centuries, even millenia later (for the Gate-Builders thought of the long term) one of the huge roving terraforming vessels that were so similar to their city-ships in size and configuration, but solely dedicated to remaking a world's environment into one that could sustain and feed the spark of life, would arrive and accomplish their mega-scale landscaping task. It would convert the atmospheric mix to a breathable one, create seas and oceans, then seed them with the proto-life that would evolve and keep sustaining the nascent biosphere. Depending on the initial conditions, the process could be further advanced, following a standard template that attempted to match the Avalon model - the first planet colonized by the Gate-Builders' ancestors when they reached the Milky Way.

This titanic process lasted almost a million years, before the vast roaming ships were called off. Many more worlds now existed to welcome sentient life and the Gate-Builders' collective felt it was enough. They sat back and watched their creation grow, and dismantled the demiurgical machines, converting them into more flying cities to accomodate their expanding numbers.

The rest, as they say, was history, albeit long forgotten by the time the Ancestors' long-removed progeny spread their wings through the starry void. Nobody remembered the gigantic life-bearing vessels, and the memory of their creators became myth and legends telling of exceptional beings wielding unique power.

One of those planets was rediscovered many, many eons later, by the then-expanding Goa'uld empire. It was found to hold small but valuable deposits of the elements that were the building bricks of advanced technology, and a hospitable if somewhat arid environment. Its first owner named it Lak'nor'te after the way its sun appeared to blaze red through the dust-laden atmosphere. Slaves were brought in to work the mines until the easy-to-reach layers were exhausted, then the workforce was rounded up and sent to another conquered world with untapped resources. The planet was left alone, fading into oblivion, its name all but forgotten.

Until Tanith's expanding dominion reached it years ago, looking for neighboring resource-rich worlds. On that matter he was disappointed. Eventually, Lak'nor'te's only value laid in its location, about half-way to the Tollan Empire's outer reaches. Passing ships could replenish their stores of consumables and Jaffas could ring down for a quick ground-side jaunt.

Therefore, it was only lightly-occupied. A small fortified compound housed a hundred warriors, a set of transport rings and an automated subspace sensor array to warn of opening hyper windows, on top of a dry shrub-covered hill overlooking a rocky sea shore. It was a fairly boring place, all things considered, with the only distraction afforded by the nearby sea. Swimming wasn't practical because of the vicious currents and jagged rocks, but fishing was bountiful and afforded both a past time and a welcome dietary supplement for the garrison.

As a precaution, two staff cannons were set in sand-walled emplacements, each located a stone-throw from the stargate so as to provide enfilading fire against invading warriors. Both positions were linked by a trench where more Jaffas could hold the line with staff guns. There was even another trench connecting the fieldwork to the main housing block, itself enjoying a commanding view of the Chappai behind thick rock walls.

As far as Tanith's Jaffas were concerned, it was a fairly strong defensive position and it would hold at bay anything less than a massive and determined attack by counterparts serving a rival god. There was even a special magic to undo the Tollan usurpators' trickery.

Unfortunately for them, it wasn't other Jaffas that came this time, nor Tollan soldiers.

It was minight local time. Most of the garrison were sleeping, but a strong guard was enforced. The cannons were manned, the Chappai and the area surrounding it were lit by burning torches, and a dozen Jaffas were sitting in the trench, meditating or playing games with small animal bones to pass the time. Really, they couldn't be blamed for a lack of vigilance. Indeed, when the chevrons started to light up one after another, they went to full alert and rang the alarm bell to wake up their sleeping comrades.

The wormhole stabilized under the ready crackling maws of the staff weaponry trained at the blue vertical pool, just as the first awoken warriors jogged out of their accomodation on their way to the dug-in fighting position. More and more came into the open, staff guns pointed in the stargate's direction.

Ten seconds later, all of them were beginning to feel the sting of impatience as nothing seemed to happen. Maybe it was a false alert ?

Suddenly, something came out, or rather flew out, too fast for the eye to follow or even fully register the shape. One of the cannons opened fire ineffectually, the plasma rounds wasting themselves into the open wormhole then into the night, trying to follow the object's trajectory as it turned sharply up, using the full maneuvering capability afforded by its vector-thrust booster and aerodynamic control surfaces.

The Jaffas craned their neck to follow the rapidly climbing flame, and squinted to try and see better when the blaze cut off and faint lights seemed to ripple briefly along the thing's dark flanks. Smaller cylindrical objects fell down unseen in the night, while a dark grey parachute deployed from the powered-off Tactical Interdiction Cluster Missile and slowed its descent to the ground. The infrared camera in the projectile's nose witnessed the fall of the fourty millimeter anti-personnel submunitions it had just shed off as they each deployed stabilizing fins, scanned the area below for targets, found one and lit their small acceleration motor. Sixty smart grenades arrowed down like shooting stars, leaving their prey no chance to react. Miniature shaped charges intended to pierce cermet personal armor hit unprotected Jaffa heads with predictably spectacular results, splattering the area with brains, blood and bone fragments, and fourty-two headless corpses collapsed onto the ground. The rest of the munitions, having found no warm body to attack, peppered the barracks instead, killing two more warriors but doing no more than cosmetic damage to the structure.

Having expended its deadly cargo, the missile had not finished its task yet. In fact, the cluster rain was merely intended to purge the stargate's close surroundings from any immediate threats. Its main job was to provide a sensor picture of the area in order to allocate targets for the follow-up strikes, and two heartbeats after the last grenade had impacted, another missile screamed out of the event horizon, the wake of its passage raising swirling vortexes in the dust. The thermobaric version of the tactical missile homed straight and true into the barracks entrance, and the following blast reduced the late Jaffas to charred paste that blew out of the building's small apertures amidst fire and smoke just before the weakened structure collapsed on itself, thus burying whatever remained of the transport rings and hyperwindow detection gear.

As dust and smoke rose over the destroyed compound, the dead silence was broken again, but this time no more missiles appeared. Instead a squad of ghouloons deployed from the open wormhole in rehearsed fashion, establishing a close-in perimeter, followed by more of their kind who expanded the secured area. As one of the chimerical soldiers approached a decapitated Jaffa's corpse to check for a live symbiote, the almost-mature snake-like creature leapt out, its instincts telling it to seek a host to invade and control, its senses telling it that the approaching humanoid could provide an adequate puppet for lack of something better.

It was a forlorn chance, the embryonic Goa'uld realized when its dash was interrupted in mid-air, caught by an impossibly fast hand-reflex. The sentient serpentine creature writhed and hissed furiously in the ghouloon's fist, spitting fury borne from immediate desperation and bloodline-transmitted viciousness, while the genetically-enthralled warbreed examined it with curiosity behind its protective visor. Eventually, the encounter was cut short as two bestially strong arms ripped the fragile shape in two, letting the broken halves stir feebly in the dust and die next to their erstwhile womb.

Elsewhere, short bursts of gunfire told of similar ends, shredding surviving symbiotes inside their cooling pouches or outside, for the arid soil offered no cover against thermal imagery and the soldiers were instructed to take no prisoner.

The wormhole had been active for three minutes when the last comers appeared. Drakensis men and women walked out confidently, even though they weren't armored but wore instead Space Force uniforms, black and form-fitting, and carried bulky cylindrical bags that contained their deployment kit : vacuum-rated skinsuits, personal weapons, a set of alternate clothing and sundry items, enough for the time they would spend aboard Tollan navy ships.

One of them dropped her bag on the ground, apparently unfazed by the surrounding carnage, and fished out a small Tollan communication device from a side pocket. She raised it to face her blonde-framed face, peered at the screen then drawled out in accented Tollan.

"Traveler to Big Bird, objective secured"

She peered up at the night sky and unfamiliar constellations. An instant later, the reply came loud and clear.

"Traveler, Big Bird here. Transitioning to realspace."

Millions of kilometers away, where the star's gravity well became shallow enough to allow the Tollan hyperdrive to generate an exit window, space rippled and pulsed in shades of blue and violet in the visual spectrum, accompanied by a burst of invisible high-energy exotic particles and radiation. Out of the disturbance came the white dagger-shaped form of a Tollan heavy cruiser, immediately followed by more of its kind, a full reinforced squadron, flanked by two flottillas of smaller destroyers, looking like cones flattened on their longitudinal axis and studded with sensor and weapon blisters, gravitic drives flaring brightly with secondary radiation as they accelerated away to their standard screening formation around the bigger ships.

The fifty-ship task force wheeled sunwards and increased speed.

"Big Bird here, on our way, estimated time of arrival four hours"

The Draka spacer acknowledged, then put the Tollan communicator away and produced a Domination-issue encrypted radio. She made a short situation report and signed off. As if on cue, the wormhole dissipated behind them.

"And now we wait" she winked to her companions.

Four hours later, just as announced, shuttles swept down to the planet's surface, having left the warships in advance and used their superior acceleration to leave the slower vessels behind. It was a time-saving maneuver, intended to spare the fleet from having to decelerate to a relative rest and thus cutting down the time spent in-system.

Augmented Drakensis eyes followed the blazing lines in the upper atmosphere and counted the incoming aerospace transports. Eighteen, amounting to the precise number of waiting officers. One for each heavy cruiser, and each destroyer flagship.

"Freya's tits, look at the way they're decelerating !"

"How many gees do you think they're taking ?" another asked to no-one in particular.

"Ah'd say like fourty or fifty. Amazing what inertial compensation can do, eh ?"

"Ah' can't wait until we have something lahk' that" one Mars-borne and accented female blurted out, summing up what everybody was thinking. This assignment was shaping up to be exciting. Of course, they knew the risk, and casually dismissed it. They were soldiers of the New Race, after all, born for war and danger.

More of a concern was the fact that they would spend at least a week surrounded by ferals who had no idea of their rightful place. Hence why Aerospace Command had selected officers who not only had relevant naval experience, but also showed a higher-than-average ability to behave cordially with serfs and metic citizens, and keep their self-control when antagonized. The group was also briefed in person by Daniel Jackson on Dante Base before they left for Lak'nor'te.

Hopefully they wouldn't kill any hapless or tactless Tollan out-of-hand.

The shuttles landed smoothly on extended struts, secondary gravitic thrusters kicking up sand and pebbles in concentric waves, and as soon as the first aircraft was stabilized on the ground, a rectangular hatch opened aside on its rounded flank. An Imperial Navy subcommander, two silver bars on his white-jacketed breast, looking dignified with a short neatly trimmed grey beard, appeared and climbed down the extended ladder. Draka and Tollan met halfway between the dormant stargate and the crescent of landed white-painted shuttles and exchanged salutes. Expectant silence followed for the duration of five human and two Drakensis heartbeats as man and woman gauged each other.

"Greetings from the Imperial Tollan Navy" the white uniformed man spoke first, looking up at the tall female. "I'm Subcommander Anthim, Second Officer on the heavy cruiser _Majestic._"

Twin emerald eyes gazed back, almost unnerving with their slit-shaped pupils and unnatural steadyness. Their owner's humanity was however confirmed when they contracted in unison with a small twinkle of her lip, a minute but genuine sign of good-natured warmth, and _ITN Majestic_'s second in command suddenly found that she was indeed not only stunningly beautiful, but also looked very attractive in a friendly if somewhat standoffish way.

"Pleased to meet you, Subcommander Anthim," her voice flowed around the Tollan words with almost musical tonality and Anthim realized he listened with rapt attention. She made a small gesture at herself, increasing her smile. "Cohortarch Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, Domination Aerospace Force, executive officer on the _Lionheart_… well, that was two days ago. Now I'm a liaison officer, detached for the duration of this operation" she finished.

"Well, Cohortarch Ingolfsson, please forgive my rudeness, but we need to hurry. If you and your fellow officers" he waved at the group waiting close by, listening to the exchange "would embark now ?"

"Of course" a curt nod answered, half directed at the Tollan, half at the other Drakas. The group broke into motion, individually making their way to a parked shuttle in quick purposeful strides, and the blonde Cohortarch followed Anthim back to his craft.

A minute later, the eighteen little aerospace transports lifted up and immediately went to maximum thrust on updated return vectors, bringing their predatory cargo to the cold heavens.

**ITN Majestic**

**Goa'uld-Tollan Buffer Zone**

Four hours in, four hours out. The Tollan task force didn't linger in-system, nor did the ghouloon troops on Lak'nor'te's surface. As soon as the shuttles were up and going, their leader had punched in Abydosian coordinates, and a minute later only the dead remained on the planet. The attackers didn't bother to hide their traces : it was expected that Tanith would blame the Tollans anyway and at worst retaliate on Nautonan civilians, which would play in the Domination's hand eventually. As Dominarch Schneider had put it, "the more that Goa'uld mistreats them, the more they'll welcome us as liberators… and accept anything we ask !"

Two more days. That was the time needed to reach the fleet's actual target, a world that was both important and closest to the border. It was a gamble : there hadn't been time to effect much recon, and existing intel was spotty at best, which some of the Tollan officers had vigorously debated, stating that the whole operation was reckless and bound to fail. Others had on the contrary espoused the idea with an enthusiasm borne from sheer frustration at their apparent incapacity to help the Nautonan population. The very thought of counter-attacking at last instead of merely taking the punches and waiting for the next Goa'uld aggression appealed to the more militant Imperials. Eventually, the debate was closed by the Curia's firm orders to go along with the plan. It allowed the politicians to tell the population that something was being done, without actually revealing exactly what. Both the Drakas and the ITI had judiciously pointed out that Tanith's bold attack had obviously relied on accurate and up-to-date intel on Nautona-based assets and force dispositions, meaning that he had to have agents operating inside the Tollan borders.

It didn't have to be an infested official either, and this was very unlikely anyway given the precautions taken against this possibility, but anyone could access the Global Datanet and find non-restricted information.

By the same token, mention of the Drakas was carefully avoided in front of anyone not directly dealing with them. Indeed, Task Force Avenger (as the expeditionary fleet was aptly named) had departed the Home System without even knowing it would swing by Lak'nor'te. This, as well as complementary information about the passengers to be taken, had figured in a sealed order packet that was only opened after the fleet had hypered away, and divulged only to the officers of the ships that would host one of the foreign guests.

Naturally, scuttlebutt had done the rest. Speculation ran rampant among the crews during the first leg of the trip, with bets being taken regarding the identity of the visitors, with most guesses pointing to the Hebrideans, and a few original minds suggesting that the Nox had finally grown a pair of balls and decided to make themselves useful, only to be scoffed at by their fellow sailors.

The shuttle Gwendolyn Ingolfsson was on, stenciled MJ-01 and outfitted as a VIP transport, intended to ferry commanding officers and the occasional civilian official on a ceremonial visit in and out of the prestigious vessel, contained six plushy self-adjusting seats, four of them facing each other with a touch-interactive tablet in-between that could either display images directly on its flat surface or command a holographic projector, but was currently inactive. The passenger compartment was separated from the two-crew cockpit by an airtight bulkhead, and remarkably isolated from noise and vibration, the young Cohortarch reflected. There was another remarkable feature : gravity didn't fluctuate in the slightest as they left Lak'nor'te's gravitational field. In effect, it was as if she was sitting in planet-based aircar. It seemed fabulous, and she had to check through the nearby rectangular window that they were actually flying in space.

In fact, the novelty was such that it must have shown on her face, for her Tollan accompaniator picked on it.

"I understand that artificial gravity must seem strange when you're not used to it" he commented in a tone that sounded friendly enough, although Ingolfsson's keen perception discerned a trace of… curiosity, not scorn, she decided. She inwardly shrugged off a spontaneous whiff of annoyance at having been caught almost gawking, and promptly composed herself into a blank expression as she turned her attention from the window to the man sitting across her. She briefly considered her answer, tempted to reassert her natural dominance in a rather forceful manner, then banished the instinctual response and clamped down on her pheromonal output. Her inner debate only lasted a fraction of a second, then she made up a discreet pleasant smile.

"Truth be told, it feels unnatural" she answered graciously "I'm not sure I'd like the lack of physical feedback, actually."

Anthim nodded in agreement. "In fact, I quite agree with you. I started my career flying a gunboat, and back then I used to leave a couple gravity increments of leeway in the inertial compensation," he spread his hands in illustration "much better feel in my opinion, but this is a personnel shuttle, so its systems are set for maximum comfort" he finished explaining.

A fractional smile told him that it made sense from his guest's point of view. It encouraged him to keep talking while they were flying towards the fleet.

"Ah, about the little practical aspects of this… visit, we were taken quite by surprise, and unfortunately we couldn't make arrangements for your presence in advance."

Gwen merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Our ships don't have much spare room for extra crew…" Anthim's tone became apologetic "so you will have to share the officers' quarters." Only he, as Second Officer, and the Captain had individual rooms, and he certainly hadn't received orders to vacate his, he kept to himself ; instead he went on to explain "you will share an officer's suite. Of course, this means you will have an enclosed bunk, but will have to share a common recreation room and sanitary facilities with three other crew. Females, naturally. I really apologize for this…" he added with as much sincerity as he could muster, not that he actually cared that much.

He personally didn't have a preconceived opinion about the foreign passengers they were instructed to host, and he had to admit she was very pleasant on the eyes, but until those newfound allies proved their worth, he didn't intend to go out of his way to oblige them. At least that's what he'd thought before he met Cohortarch Ingolfsson, along with most of his colleagues. There was a minority who didn't take too well the apparent trespassing of what they considered to be their own turf and had therefore expressed doubt, even contempt, for the unknown visitors. In Anthim's personal opinion, this was exactly the kind of attitude that ended in lost battles and Goa'uld-occupied planets. So he was going to give the Drakas a chance to show their worth.

He had no idea that his counterpart was perceptive enough to pick up the minute hints and signs that he wasn't even conscious of giving, and thus had a rather good idea of his underlying thoughts. Not that she allowed herself to show it, retaining a tactful, low-key smiling facade.

"No apologies necessary, Subcommander." she answered politely, underlining her words with a discreet gesture of her hand. "After all, my mission is also intended to gain a better understanding of your people" _two can play the game,_ she smirked inwardly, "and I'm sure that sharing accommodations with fellow Tollan naval personnel will go a long way towards that goal" she flashed a charming smile, accompanied by a burst of seduction-arousal pheromones.

She reveled in the Subcommander's half-conscious reaction. The Tollans were so human, she mused, watching him flush and respond unknowingly with the scent of his own heightened physical interest. She chose to encourage it playfully, appearing to pick this precise moment to stretch luxuriously on the form-adjusting seat, and caught the man's eyes flitting of their own accord towards her chest as the suddenly strained fabric clung to

the curve of her breasts. She smiled wider, watching him under her impishly lowered eyelids. He fiddled on his seat, trying to hide his suddenly awoken lust and the beginning of a raging erection, his inner turmoil rather obvious to her. She guessed that he must be cursing his own apparent unprofessional lapse in self-control and feeling ashamed of it. Oh, maybe he was married, how delighting. He seemed to have no clue that he wasn't to blame for his undignified state. How could he ? It wasn't like the Tollans had been briefed on Drakensis' full range of capabilities. Maybe they would eventually find out about the pheromones, Gwendolyn contemplated, if they knew where and how to look. And more importantly, if they lasted long enough to have the opportunity.

As far as she was concerned, the Domination should only support the Empire as long as it was strategically useful. Once the Race had obtained the means to resist Goa'uld might on their own, the Tollans' usefulness would end. Then the only question would be whether they would fall under the Yoke or be wiped out by Draka, or for that matter Goa'uld, might.

Perhaps fortunately for Subcommander Anthim, the pilot's voice broke the spell, coolly professional and coming from somewhere in the compartment's overhead fittings.

"We're cleared to dock in shuttle bay one, ETA three minutes"

In truth, those three minutes felt like the longest in Anthim's life, filled with awkward attempts at small talk and crackling sexual tension. At least the cockpit had a separate life support system, and the two pilots remained perfectly oblivious of the lust-saturated atmosphere behind.

At last the passengers felt the muted jolt of docking clamps clasping the shuttle, having watched the blackness of space make way to the brillianly lit white-painted interior of the bay, marred here and there by grille-covered vents, color-coded pipes and wiring bundles all neatly laid out and organized. This at least wasn't disorienting to the Draka spacer's eyes.

A small status screen came to life near the compartment's exit. Gwendolyn peeked at the displayed message.

"The hangar's not pressurized ?"

Anthim jumped at the opportunity to switch back to his professional mode.

"No, no, as you can see" he blurted out, then made an effort on himself and continued in a more sedate tone "not that it's technically unfeasible, since an air-tight forcefield can be established when the bay doors are open, but standard practice keeps it depressurized for safety and damage-control reasons."

"Sensible" the blonde Draka commented succintly, rising out of her seat in preparation for disembarking, and stopping herself in time to avoid bumping her skull on the ceiling. Apparently Tollan shuttles weren't designed for people her size.

Right on cue, the status message changed to indicate a successful coupling and equalized outside air pressure. Anthim stood up as well, ostensibly flattening the creases of his uniform jacket, and Gwendolyn noticed that he was stooping like her even though he didn't have to. She didn't say anything but smiled inwardly. From his posture and body language, she surmised that he was going to visit the head as soon as he was able to.

**ITN Majestic**

**Task Force Avenger**

**Tanith's outer dominions**

Gwendolyn Ingolfsson examined her reflection in the full-length mirror of the suite's common room. At one meter and seventy-six centimeters, she wasn't the tallest Draka around, but in Tollan society she was a oddity, and towered above the female crewmembers. She angled her face closer and slightly lower in order to peek more closely at her scalp. Barely visible were the reddish hair roots, although she had dyed her mane two week ago. The novelty had greatly aroused Aloïs, she remembered, and she had to admit it gave her a different air… more innocent maybe, if any Draka could be called so. In any case, the closely trimmed red hairs below still showed her true colors.

Satisfied with her head, she peered at her body. Fresh out of the shower (a welcome luxury, she thought, compared to the rather spartan sanitary facilities onboard a Domination cruiser, even a large one), her wet skin reflected ambient light, delineating the Drakensis muscles underlying it and emphasizing her feminine curves. She shifted and lightly scolded herself for the display of vanity, the examined herself critically. Small restrained movements to shape and check the muscles. She didn't risk losing her tone, but the lack of proper exercising equipment aboard the Tollan cruiser was annoying.

She remembered the first day, after the obligatory tour of the ship (punctuated at each station by a lengthy technical briefing), meeting with her cabinmates, and being told important procedures (mostly related to damage control and emergency evacuation). At the end of the shift, she had longed for some well-earned physical relief, starting with some palestra routines.

As she quickly learned, there was what could charitably be called a gym. Sensor Watch Officer Larian, one of the three crew she was sharing the suite with, had very helpfully brought her to the ship's physical training area, relegated at the back of the crew quarters. Gwendolyn had barely suppressed a sneer. There was a smattering of off-duty crewmembers working out on machines and benches, and unsurprisingly, the foreign woman instantly recognized what most implements were and how they were supposed to be used. Human physiology being the same on Earth and Tolla, the same needs tended to produce the same tools, she reasoned. Then she had translated the indicated weights and inwardly snorted.

It was a good opportunity to rub the ferals in Draka superiority, and she couldn't resist showing off. She headed straight to the nearest unoccupied bench, picked up a barbell and loaded it silently with the thickest and heaviest weights she could fit. From her estimation, and under local gravity, it came to approximately two hundred kilograms. Putting the loaded bar onto the supports, she had then stretched a couple times, apparently oblivious to the stares coming from the Tollan crewmembers. She was very conscious of the incredulity mixed with lust : although she kept her pheromones in check this time, her Draka-style working outfit was revealing enough. The black fabric was mostly intended to wipe away moisture and sweat, helping her keep cool during the effort, and the sheer microfiber weren't exactly concealing.

One enterprising Tollan male, a nice-looking specimen, Ingolfsson noted, came forward like a fish being reeled in, and asked nervously if he could assist, pointing to the heavy weights at the barbell's extremities. She'd agreed amiably and laid on her back, ignoring, for the time being, the scent of excitation that was very noticeable this close to the Tollan's crotch.

Then she had gripped the bar and lifted almost effortlessly. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the wide open stares and gasps, and mirthfully proceeded to a long series of push-ups. After fifty, she was starting to feel the weight, but she was used to much heavier routines back in the Domination. In fact, she had broken the two-hundred kilos barrier at seventeen. She could continue all day long if she really wanted to, although if she did she knew her arms and chest would ache mutely for hours afterwards, the time necessary for her enhanced physiology to recover from the exertion.

Not that her witnesses could hope to approach such a feat, she surmised. It was clear from their expressions and whispers - which she could hear clearly enough - that they viewed her as something between "freak" and "goddess", the latter tremendously titillating her mind.

She stopped at a hundred reps, put the bar back on the supports, and rose up from the bench in a supple flowing motion, nevertheless flashing an apparently unpretentious smile of thanks to the dumbfounded Tollan man. In fact, she confessed that it was rather fun to assess her superiority in that manner rather than through the traditional Draka way of saying "Yo' undah the Yoke, yo' serfs ! Obey or meet the stake !"

Of course, _that_ would come later, she thought more soberly. In the meantime, why not indulge in the situation ? She had suddenly realized, back then, that the situation she was experiencing was unlike any her ancestors had gone through. Here were… ferals, sure, but she was free to behave around them without the century-old burden of Master-vs-Serf struggle. She could never had known this on Earth, where every non-Draka was either a serf, or feared to become one and conversely hated the Domination with a passion, which quite a bit skewed any interaction between a Citizen and anyone else.

The Tollans didn't have this legacy of fear… oh yes, she could pump out the pheromones and alter her presence to project sheer ferocity if she wanted. An angry-looking Drakensis was nothing if not terrifying. But she wouldn't. Right now, she felt content enough, luxuriating in the awed and admiring stares. The Yoke could wait. In the meantime, she would savour fully the novel experience : mingling freely with humans who didn't have an ingrained reason to hate her, and whom she didn't need to force into submission.

Not that some of them hadn't submitted already, and a little smile appeared on her lips as she looked in the mirror. The small room positively reeked of sex, and the discarded uniform pieces laying around where they had been ripped out told the tale eloquently enough. The bunk she had left early was still occupied by Officer Larian, still sleeping off the night's exhaustions, as did Theria and Agleia, respectively Engineering and Logistical Officers, limbs entangled on a nearby berth. The three women weren't exactly stunning, but ranged from "plain" to "cute" and the military routine at least enabled them to keep in shape. And whatever inhibitions they harbored in their past life were well and truly a thing of the past.

The form-adjusting beds were a bonus. As the quatuor had found, it greatly facilitated some of the figures and provided a welcome support in other configurations.

Gwendolyn sighed softly. The three Tollan females had been neophytes at this. From what she'd been able to gather, lesbianism and bisexuality were uncommon in Imperial society, not that they were repressed as such, rather, they never had become more than a marginal practice, a curiosity. In fact, Larian and Agleia were married, their husbands were back on Tolla, and they might well find their partners subtly changed the next time they met. If they survived the coming battle, that is.

That thought brought her back to the present. The next day would see them fighting whatever awaited in the target system, and she still had many things to learn about _Majestic_'s systems. Those she was allowed access to, at least. But even if some doors remained closed to her, she could perceive and overhear things much better than her Tollan minders believed.

As she swivelled in place, Larian stirred and cracked open an eye. A moan escaped her lips and she stretched vigorously, her back arching up, then abruptly relaxed with a dramatic sigh and rolled on her side, propping her head in her hand, chestnut hair cascading over the left side of her face.

"Gwen ?"

"Yes, sweetie ?"

"I want to do it again"

The blonde woman laughed cheerfully and took three strides towards the bed, slightly exaggerating the sway of her hips under Larian's wanton gaze. Her knee straddling the Sensor Officer's thighs, she bent down and grabbed the back of her head then kissed the proffered lips. The brunette answered the kiss hungrily, sucking down on Gwendolyn's probing tongue and pushing herself up in a bold effort to fasten her whole body to the powerful being hovering above, as if nothing else counted. There was an electrifying instant and she gave out a muffled moan, feeling two feverish fingers slide between her inner thighs and start rubbing her most intimate area. Seconds later, the blonde woman broke off the kiss and brought her hand up, ignoring the reflexive pelvic thrust trying to follow the retreating probe, and stared straight into Larian's eyes as the smaller female ran her tongue first, then swallowed whole the glistening fingers, twisting he tongue over them and sucking as if they were sweet lollipops. The brown eyes were alight with lust, the Tollan's whole expression one of pure, shameless, unabashed longing for sexual pleasure.

There was no escaping the rekindled fire, a corner of Gwendolyn's mind whispered. The Tollan woman was literally wrapped around her finger, looking towards the Draka to bring her to unknown heights of ecstasy.

Which was not only extremely entertaining, but also promised valuable intelligence potential. And that was her last rational thought for the time being, as Larian's own fingers took hold of her sensitive nipples and began to tease and twist them through an orgasm-building recital. Oh yes, she was learning quickly.

_Later_

"Well, Merarch, here you are"

Subcommander Anthim's shoulders rotated slightly in her direction as Ingolfsson entered _Majestic_'s bridge. She noticed that he was back to his slightly aloof attitude, arms crossed behind his ramrod back, the stereotypical picture of a naval officer down to the neatly trimmed beard.

"I take it you're getting familiar with the ship ?"

Gwendolyn's lips curled into a faint smile.

"Indeed, Subcommander. I must commend the Tollan navy for its hospitality and competence", it didn't hurt to be nice.

"I'm sure you have learned a lot" he commented neutrally. Or at least he believed that he was letting nothing of his inner thoughts out. His Drakensis interlocutor could read him like a book, though, and the subtle hints and barely audible (but for the bridge's otherwise silent atmosphere) subvocalizations told her everything she wanted to know.

Her various feats had obviously made it around the grapevine, including, it seemed, the night's lesbian orgy. She wondered if they went so far as to spy on their own crew, and shrugged inwardly. It didn't make any difference to her, in fact, she enjoyed being watched. Besides, if the Tollans thought Drakas were sexual freaks, it might blind them to their other, more quirky traits.

"I heard that you managed to fraternize quite well with the crew" Anthim cautiously elaborated, keeping his face and tone neutral. Gwen refrained a smirk and chose to answer just as diplomatically.

"I found the Tollan people to be most welcoming, yes. It bodes well for our future relations"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it does" the commander managed to keep a straight face, and switched to a less slippery subject. "We'll reach our emergence point in five hours. You may wish to rest until then"

"Thank you, Subcommander, but I'm as rested as I could ever be. I'd rather spend that time reviewing the plan"

Anthim chuckled amiably. "By all means do so ! Although I'm afraid the battle plan's rather scarce, just like our intel."

"Remember, we don't have to conquer the system, only drag Tanith's warfleet away from Nautonan space."

"Yet we have to make it convincing enough. That's going to cost lives, and ships, most probably."

"War is hell" the blonde shrugged. _You don't build a plantation without flogging a few serfs_, she added mutely, keeping the old Draka wisdom to herself. "In the meantime, with your permission, I'm going to Engineering. Officer Theria very graciously offered to tutor me in the arcane field of hyperdimensional geometry calculations." And it was even true. Sex was all well and good, but sometimes even a Citizen had to work for a living.

"Very well, Merarch Ingolfsson. In any case, we'll ring General Quarters ten minutes before emergence."

**Planet Atheros**

**Tanith's Dominion**

Most Goa'uld planets, as a rule, were sparsely populated and developed. A geograph would say that the System Lords showed an extensive rather than intensive approach to exploiting their possessions, seemingly scattering small slave communities around stargates wherever it suited them, and often leaving those communities to their own devices for decades before swinging in, making a suitably impressive appearance to reinforce their godhood in the slaves' eyes, proceeding to grab whatever useful material had been accumulated during their absence, take in a few personal servants (very seldom) or Jaffa replacements (which happened a bit more often, and was usually a sought-after career opportunity - "be a warrior, see the stars, meet new people, kill or rape them !" appealed to youth everywhere) and then taking off again.

It could be rationalized after a fashion : there were thousands of known inhabitable worlds, likely many more unregistered, and it was decidedly easier to dial a stargate than try to cross seas and continents on the same planet when you were a medieval-level Goa'uld minion.

Still, there were worlds that were either more ancient, or more useful, or were simply chosen by a particular System Lord to reflect his glorious might, and thus received a favored treatment. Atheros was one of those. It had belonged to Tanith for seven centuries. He had driven off and killed the second-rate Goa'uld ruler who controlled it beforehand and used it as his capital. Therefore, the conqueror found a planet that was already densely populated (for Goa'uld standards), dotted with cities, rich in agricultural products and exported many refined trade goods crafted by its skilled artisans. A couple thousand public executions were enough to quell any discontentment and ensure a smooth transition to the new management.

In the following centuries, Atheros became a steady source of well-trained Jaffas, personal slaves and general purpose manpower. Its importance grew with Tanith's ambitions, culminating with the establishment of several shipyards on the planet's surface, that were churning out the entire range of Goa'uld spacecraft, from zippy Udajeets to lumbering Ha'taks.

This also made Atheros a priority target, accordingly protected by hundreds of Death Gliders and Alkesh gunships, supplemented by minefields and defense satellites. At least that was before the would-be god's latest conquest spree. The Tollan hadn't exactly rolled over and curled up to die, and while upgraded Hat'aks were able to soak up heavy ion cannon fire, smaller units still paid a hefty price. As a result, Tanith had to marshall his fighter and bomber squadrons for the Nautona operation… stripping his planetary defenses in the way. The Draka and Tollan strategists had counted on this factor, although they weren't sure how much it would matter.

Down on Atheros' surface, inside the sprawling eastern wing of the capital city's stone and marble palatial temple, a lone Goa'uld sat contently on the gold-plated commode that stood like a throne in the middle of his apartment's spacious bathroom. Palace slaves waited obediently nearby, holding jugs of scented water and wet sponges for the noble task of cleaning up the master's divine bottom.

He was Kopros, the Tanith-appointed governor of Atheros, a relatively young Goa'uld at barely three centuries of existence, but he had displayed just the right mix of ambition and willingness to serve his older and better brethren during his apprenticeship. He had successfully climbed the steps from low-ranking administrator to his current position, showing competence and efficiency at every level. Tanith knew the younger Goa'uld had even greater ambitions, up to becoming a System Lord in his own right, but he didn't feel threatened : he had always made sure that Kopros was kept as much as possible out of the loop when it came to military matters. That way, the eager administrator never had the opportunity to build himself a powerbase among Tanith's Jaffas. He knew just enough to let him fulfill his task of managing the planet's population, which he did quite well, with the right blend of severity and benevolence. The various guilds and trade councils of Atheros lauded his wisdom and fairness in arbitrating disputes, and his servants quietly praised his relative gentleness compared to Lord Tanith himself.

An impartial observer would have credited Governor Kopros for the rather smooth way he administered the planet. At any rate, there were much worse places one could be born under Goa'uld rule.

Kopros was relaxing on the velvet-covered ring, letting his host body take care of its excretory needs while his executive mind reviewed the case he was to arbiter during the afternoon audience. Again, the city councilors were complaining about the increased draft levels, arguing that civilized, urbane folk shouldn't be subjected to the same treatment as filthy grimy peasants from some lowly agricultural shitworld. The Goa'uld found himself agreeing somehow, since Atheros' skilled classes were far more valuable (and usually more pleasant to look at) than the common rabble sent to do menial work on newly conquered planets. Shoveling dirt and breaking stones had to be done by someone, of course, and Kopros reflected that his liege's latest success would mean a lot of that.

The blasphemous modern cities of Nautona would be cast down lest their proud glittering towers eclipse the glory of the only true Lords. No trace of the Tollan's former power and independance should remain : in this galaxy, humans were here to serve the superior Goa'uld species, let nothing else argue otherwise.

His slightly out-of-focus eyes snapped from their contemplative stare as a Page burst in, followed by a bejeweled Jaffa. Kopros recognized him instantly, he was the most senior warrior left on Atheros, effectively Tanith's local military commander. The well-dressed young servant opened his mouth hurriedly, pointing accusatory stares at his rather more imposing companion and apologetic ones at the throned Goa'uld.

"My Lord, he didn't stop at the door…-"

Kopros raised his right hand. "Let him talk" he snapped off. It had to be important, for no sane Jaffa would barge in uninvited without a seriously good reason. More good news from Nautona ?

The warrior nodded curtly, evidently unwilling to waste time on protocol.

"My Lord, a Tollan fleet has dropped from hyper in the system's outer limits. They are accelerating towards Atheros as I speak"

Kopros didn't betray his surprise. The Tollans, here ? It was preposterous ! They should be trying to fight off Tanith's forces on Nautona, if anything !

"Put every defense on alert"

"Already done, my Lord !"

A nod of praise rewarded the Jaffa's diligence.

"How long until the blasphemers are in range ?"

"Approximately three hours, my Lord"

"Good. Return to the war room and await me there !"

The man bowed a little deeper this time and saluted, fist over his heart, then swivelled on his heels and departed in great purposeful strides.

Left behind, Kopros made a small grimace as he contracted his bowels to hasten the purging process. He was rewarded with a satisfyingly loud noise and a healthy smell. A breath later, he waved for the waiting body servants to approach and begin their neatly choreographed duty, which they did with great attention and pride as usual.

As the domestic staff attended to his hygienic requirements, the planetary governor couldn't help but wonder what the Tollans could expect to accomplish. The cities and shipyards of Atheros were protected by shields against orbital bombardment, even if the attackers made it through the outer defenses. It really looked like a wasteful move, borne off the desperation the uppity humans had to be feeling. Well, at least watching them as they were crushed by Goa'uld might should be more entertaining than listening to the locals complaining again.

xxxx

Ten minutes later, Kopros walked regally into the Palace's command room, dismissed his bodyguards and stood before the throne-chair, not willing to sit down just yet. He took the time to sweep the whole room under an imperious looking stare, flashed his eyes and finally addressed the Jaffa commander.

"Now. Tell me"

A customary short bow later, the warrior answered, pointing to the Pel'tak-style display hovering in front of the room's occupants.

"As you can see, my Lord, the blasphemers are heading right towards this world. They have deployed small craft squadrons to screen and scout for their main force as they customarily do. Our own Death Gliders and Al'kesh units are up and awaiting orders"

"Good. You have acted wisely." Kopros was all too aware of his separation from the military side of things, and it didn't hurt to get on the Jaffa's good side, although he harbored no illusion as to the man's unwaveringly fierce loyalty to Tanith. "I assume the orbital fortifications are active as well ?"

"Of course, my Lord. If the blasphemers try to close with this world, they will feel the full wrath of the Gods !"

"Excellent. Let them come to us and die !"

"They're expecting us to walk into their fixed defenses"

"Hoping to pounce on us once our formation's disorganized and weakened by whatever traps they have in orbit"

Merarch Ingolfsson listened to the Tollan bridge officers stating the obvious. Ever since TF Avenger had exited hyperspace, the sensor crews inside the dashing white vessels had been sweeping the system with active scans, not bothering with stealth since the whole premise of the operation consisted in broadcasting "Here we are ! Come and fight us !" as loudly as possible, but instead intent on finding out whatever laid waiting in front of the fleet.

The Goa'uld spacecrafts were accounted for as soon as they lit their drives to break orbit, but everyone onboard _Majestic_ assumed there had to be cloaked minefields and defensive satellites, for every important Goa'uld world seemed to sprout those lately. And even the most rudimentary cloaking field (the kind that would be installed on expendable assets) required full scanning power to be detected at anything but point-blank range.

Which would have constituted an almost insurmountable obstacle for the attackers, had their Draka counterparts not come up with an idea that seemed at first preposterously crude, then started to make sense when the Tollan technicians condescended to examined it. After all, cloaking fields, just like protective force-shields, were rated for a certain amount of energy to warp and deflect.

The Domination officer observed that Subcommander Anthim's facial expression, as well as Ship Commander Olmoc's, held something very much akin to a hunting Drakensis' predatory grin. Somehow, she was beginning to like those people. Naturally, it helped their mood that she was currently outputting a tailored pheromone mix intended to stimulate _homo sapiens_' innate aggressive tendencies. It had felt somewhat wrong at first - encouraging ferals to be aggressive and warlike went against the Domination's whole recent history - but she rationalized it easily : after all, her own life was on the line as well, and the Tollan's success here would serve the Race.

Her enhanced senses made the bridge crew's heightened state of alertness apparent, from the tenser way they held themselves to their elevated heartrates and subtly altered scent, all pointed to them being eager to fight yet focused and professional. A fleeting thought passed through her mind. _Like good Janissaries, back when we used them._ When the Final War came, ghouloons shock troopers had already replaced the majority of the human soldiers in Janissary formations. The last fighting serfs were rather cynically expended in Pacifications sweeps, but the policy had a point : those particular serfs were too inclined to violence, and the Final Society wouldn't need them. Better use them up, besides, they loved the fighting, looting and raping and would rather die in battle rather than go back to plowing fields. Viewed this way, the Draka policy was almost merciful.

Gwendolyn snapped out of her reverie and glanced at the mission clock.

Right on cue, Majestic's commanding officer stared in her direction.

"Well, Merarch, if I'm not mistaken, the ground invasion should begin about… now ?"

Before she could open her mouth, a female voice preempted her answer. It was Larian's, currently sitting at her post overlooking the ship's sensor suite.

"Sir, I'm picking up as subspace energy spike, congruent with a wormhole opening on the planet's surface !" The cute little woman held her gaze up, barely keeping her excitation in check.

"Looks like the answer to my question" Ship Commander Olmoc almost smirked. "Now we'll see how good you Drakas are" he added to Gwendolyn's intention. She kept her face straight and neutral. The man hadn't intended his comment to be altogether impertinent, more like a friendly goading. She felt a slight, unrelated pang in her mind. Her brothers and sisters were going to fight and risk their lives down there, and here she was sitting (more accurately, standing) pretty and safe in an air-conditioned spaceship's bridge. Oh well. Soon she would be taking her fair share of danger.

Back on Atheros, the first sign that something was amiss happened to kill its witnesses, as a hail of smart grenades scythed through the ten-Jaffa detail keeping an eye on the Chappai almost as soon as the event horizon was settled. Most of the munitions wasted themselves reducing already dead bodies to fleshy residue, but a few found their way through the gaping portal at the far end of the gateroom, sailed out of the truncated, painted pyramid and found themselves not wanting for targets : the large stone steps leading to the entrance overlooked the city's busiest and most affluent thoroughfare, a position befitting the importance of the Ring of the Gods, but a decidedly poor placement when a hostile force was storming out of it. A couple more Jaffas were blasted to bits, followed shortly by an unlucky merchant who would never again sell his earthware to passing travellers. Unnoticed among the more immediately destructive ballistic devices, a small fixed-wing drone followed, relying on its mimetic skin and lack of engine noise to keep out of attention. It climbed as soon as it cleared the building's exitway, the sensor dome under its nose taking in the scenery below and relaying it by encrypted, low-profile datalink back to its commanders untold light-years away.

By this time, the two guard towers outside the transit pyramid sprang to life, rising to their maximum extension while the gunners on top wasted no time pointing their staff cannons inward, feeling secure behind their protective shields. The feeling of security lasted the short amount of time needed for the first Tactical Interdiction Missile to flash out and turn immediately, using its aerodynamic and pyrotechnic control systems to generate more than 70 gravities of lateral acceleration, right into the leftmost tower. Initially an anti-armor missile, its tandem heavy shaped charges punched straight through the light forcefield and neatly decapitated the vaguely banana-shaped contraption, pulverizing both gun and gunner.

His colleague only had the time to shout an imprecation before the same fate caught up with him.

Barely thirty seconds had passed since the stargate's activation, and by now two smoking pyres framed the sacred building, and screaming cityfolks were running away as fast as their legs allowed them, scattering out of sight as if Death itself was on their heels, and a wave of panic began to ripple outwards as one by one the inhabitants of the proud capital realized their home was under attack.

The defenders did what was expected of them : more Jaffas poured out of the small barracks flanking the crucially important edifice while a heavy stone shutter fell down to block the entrance to the Chappai Hall. For a minute, nothing happened, and the warriors arrayed around the great stairway almost breathed in relief, thinking the attackers were confined inside the temple. Of course, nothing could prove them wrong better than the massive slab of basalt exploding outwards, blasting the way clear for the stream of armored figures that burst out almost as swiftly as the stone fragments just before.

The Jaffas wasted no time opening fire, and a hail of plasma bolts tore through the air towards the hulking shapes storming out of the square hole. The ghouloons shock troopers didn't care and charged straight into the inferno, but their sheer movement speed and the staff gun's notoriously atrocious accuracy allowed most of them to cross the interval alive, shooting their rifles on full auto and spraying projectiles with arguably better results than their opponents. The defenders started to die from bullet wounds even before the warbeasts came into contact, with numbers barely attrited by the plasma barrage - a few charred spots on their armor, or for that matter, on their fur, did nothing to slow a battle-frenzied ghouloon.

The Jaffas' devout practice of their ancestral close-combat technique, _Mastaba,_ was unfortunately to no avail. Whatever its efficiency against human opponents, it just fell short when the opponent was a hulking gorilla-sized intelligent ape bred for strength and ferocity. Defending warriors managed to staff-parry sweeping oversized limbs, but found the hard way that the sheer inertia of a ghouloon fist contemptuously brushed the obstacle away. Even without the cermet plating, a ghouloon's dense musculature and reinforced bones were proof against sledgehammer blows. Worse, the creatures' standard-issue bladed weapon, an adequately oversized machete-like that was essentially a bigger, meaner version of the Space Force's wicked layer knife, displayed a remarkable ability to cut through Jaffa mail and even the stem of a staff weapon.

A Jaffa wasn't. The close-up, hand-to-paw fight ended quickly with two dozen dead or incapacitated ghouloon troopers, while their brethren stood among a ring of broken and mangled bodies, half their number going through the post-combat checks - essentially making sure no larval Goa'uld remained alive - under the cover of the other half, rifles trained outwards from behind whatever cover they had managed to find in the immediate surroundings.

With the immediate area secure, or at least under observation, follow-up forces came out of the wormhole. More ghouloons, some carrying crew-served heavy weapons to set up defensive emplacements, their Draka officers in segmented armor, Citizen Force infantry squads and scouting elements in the low-profile chameleon suit, dozens then hundreds of soldiers set foot on Atheros' soil, and more men and women kept coming.

A smattering of Tollan soldiers and combat engineers appeared, escorted and herded by blank-visored Draka infantry, followed by a trio of power armored heavy weapon specialists. The suits were even taller and bigger than ghouloons, brushing the passageway's ceiling with bare inches to spare as they walked out with a flowing gait that belied their size and bulk. They took positions at the foot of the monumental stairway, with a commanding view of the avenue leading away in a straight line for three hundred meters before it opened into a wide plaza. A pair of symmetrical, official looking buildings flanked the square, their flat roofs supported by exterior colonnades. It could have looked greco-roman, except the cable columns were gilded and the vividly painted bas-reliefs had a more stylized, almost egyptian look that bewildered the more historically-minded members of the invasion force.

Mansions and affluent houses lined both sides of the avenue, many sporting gaudy signs displaying the owner's profession in colorful illustrations. It was obviously one of the richest parts of the town, and the first Drakas were quick to realize the proximity of it would make looting a lot easier. The orbiting drone showed the rest of the city's features, Draka and Tollan technicians worked furiously on their portable consoles in order to update the tactical maps appearing on everyone's helmet displays or perscomp screens. A river cut the town in two, arcing lazily between the roughly eastern and western halves. The pyramid sheltering the stargate laid on the western side, and the avenue continued from the distant plaza towards the East, crossing the waterway and ending into another large square from where smaller streets meandered away maze-like among progressively more modest dwellings, until the urban area started to mingle with the surrounding countryside in a spontaneous fashion unhindered by any perimeter wall.

Larger buildings dotted the town, which the invaders assumed were public edifices, one in particular, connected to a covered stone canal on archways that could only be an elevated aqueduct, had to be a public bath. Apparently, the locals were serious about hygiene too. As far as one could see, the streets appeared quite clean, belying the overall medieval aspect of the place, although whatever sewer system existed likely led into the river itself.

The most relevant construction, however, appeared to be the palace stretching its graceful porticos and white marble walls amidst the south-eastern quadrant of the city, kept away from direct observation by a low terrain bulge sporting its own three-story high, ovoid arena.

All in all, it looked like a warped mix of ancient Mediterranean architectures, transplanted on a world that certainly had never heard of Rome or Alexandria.

Whatever, Polignac thought as he surveyed it from the top of the stairway, having just made the transit from the Abydos staging ground, the priority target was the palace. On foot and assuming no delaying action, they could reach it in under fifteen minutes, but the Drakas wouldn't have to walk all the way. The wormhole didn't stop disgorging troops, yet a brief lull in the infantry arrivals heralded the coming of the heavy assault elements given the go-ahead for transit.

Scattered gunfire cracked around the pyramid as Jaffa stragglers were cut down by the emplaced Draka weapons, just as a low whine and a subdued rattle indicated the arrival of the first repurposed Hond VI main battle tank, the last model fielded before the Final War. It was more compact than its earlier incarnations thanks to a three man crew sitting entirely inside the hull, which scarcely allowed it to drive through a stargate with a comfortable margin between the narrower unmanned turret and the inwardly curving internal ring of the stargate. The first vehicle moved forward on its flexible composite track until it reached the top of the steep descending stairs, then tilted down and rolled over the stone steps, its active suspension transparently absorbing the irregular ride. Its crew rotated the turret sideways to keep the main gun from hitting the ground when it reached the bottom, then back in 12 o'clock position after the tank was again moving horizontally.

A couple soldiers cheered the armored beast as it rolled away, squishing a few dead bodies under its path, and stopped short of the avenue's mouth, then a second one appeared upstairs.

By the time the fourth Hond was on the way, the first one had already mowed down its first Jaffa squads, spotted as they ran out of the twin buildings on the plaza, and ghouloons soldiers were moving out into the neighboring buildings, expanding the invaders' controlled area, finding no resistance from the clearly terrorized townsfolk.

Inside the palace, Kopros was only beginning to realize the Tollan fleet wasn't the most pressing matter on hand.

xxx

Twelve minutes after the initial attack, the Draka motorized column started to move out, spearheaded by the platoon of main battle tanks. They were kitted for urban warfare, the most visible signs being the dozer blade mounted on the front glacis, appliqué armor on the turret top and automatic grenade launcher supplementing the two machine guns (one coaxial, one mounted on top of the turret itself).

The designers of the last Hond generation took into account the changing trends of the late XXth century : more numerous and lethal infantry-held weapons, increasingly resilient armor material, and above all the threat of orbital weaponry looming above the battlefield. This dictated the need for an armored combatant that would be stealthier, more mobile, yet retain heavy firepower and protection. Hence the move to an automated turret and a narrower body, using a more compact powertrain scheme. The primary turbine generator was smaller than a turbocompound, and was only used to charge the superconductor storage coils that fed independant electric motors inside each road wheel. As a result, the Hond VI benefited from steep acceleration and braking performance, a high operating speed (helped by the active hydromagnetic suspension) and the ability to run silent in full electric mode, which cut its infrared signature drastically.

Its main weaponry was a 140mm electrothermal-chemical, liquid-propellant smoothbore gun firing a range of guided and unguided munitions up to muzzle velocities of 2600m/s. A heavy coaxial machine-gun and a medium one mounted on a dedicated turret roof mount provided secondary fire, while grenade launchers flush-mounted in the turret's skin were able to deploy multispectral smoke screen, active decoy and close-defense antipersonnel munitions.

Shielded optronic sensors were arrayed on the hull and turret in order to provide a 360° coverage to the crew. The main sensor clusters on the turret front included infrared and visible wavelength cameras as well as lidar, all cued to the machine's redundant compcore. The fusion of data from onboard sensors and external datalinks provided the commander with enhanced situational awareness, and while the whole system took its designers untold sleepless nights to troubleshoot, the final result managed to put to rest fears that the unmanned turret would isolate the crew from the tactical situation and reduce its effectiveness.

Finally, a layered defensive scheme protected the tank and its crew. First, the integral active protection system was able to engage and destroy missiles and, to a certain measure, destabilize antitank darts thus reducing their armor penetration ability. Said armor was a composite of space-manufactured materials, density-enhanced ceramic-metallic plates and carbon nanotube matrixes with an anti-laser ablative coating.

Superconductor magnetic shielding could protect the vehicle against EMP and particle beam weapons (up to a point).

While formidable, it was felt more and more that heavy armor would become obsolete when orbital weaponry could be brought to bear by any foot-soldier equipped with a datalink system. This trend of thought was proven to be premature during the last phases of the Final War, when orbital fire had become spotty at best for a while and the first waves of Draka airmobile infantry attempting to establish a bridgehead in America were decimated by entrenched Alliance units who did have armored support.

The lesson was quickly learnt, and subsequent invasion waves were spearheaded by heavy armor brigades which gave better results. Unfortunately, there just weren't many of them anymore, therefore progress had been slow and bloody, grinding out Domination's armor reserves.

In fact, by the time of First Contact, there was barely sixty Hond VI in working order in the whole Domination's arsenal. To be fair, new constructions were proposed but deemed very low-priority when there was so much crucial infrastructure to rebuild.

The four tanks currently on Atheros had been taken from the reserves, lifted to Luna (a technical first in itself) and sent to Abydos to join the waiting diversionary force, meeting the IFVs already there.

And now, their secondary weapons spoke as they ground their way down the main avenue, shooting clumps of Jaffas to bits. A mechanized infantry century followed in Phalanx wheeled vehicles, since the standard tracked Hoplite couldn't fit through the stargate.

The column moved at a steady pace, shooting everything that looked remotely threatening, with fire control systems on automatic. Unfortunately, this also included civilians who tried to look from windows and didn't possess a Draka IFF tag, and occasionally bloody explosions showered the street with gore and body parts mixed with stone and wood fragments. Reaching the first plaza took a couple minutes. No more Jaffas seemed to be coming out, and the vehicles drove on while the infantry wave behind them spread out, kicking or shooting doors open when needed. Inside the buildings, ghouloons and human soldiers found cowering civilians, most of them clad in rich robes, for a quick interrogation yielded the fact that the twin constructions were actually the seat of the city council.

The councilors were marched out, bound and chained, as soon as the city block was deemed secured. They walked or were manhandled by ghouloons with much terrorized screaming, sweet sounds to the Drakas ears, especially mixed with the on and off gunfire further into the town where the armored column was proceeding on its own mission.

By now, the invaders were flushing out the Atheros folks out of their houses, channeling them into the side streets in order to keep the central avenue clear, and a first triage was established. The young and the female were separated from the old and male, with Draka soldiers making stripping the former. Protestations from the latter were cut short with customary brutality, and soon the sobbing and whining of naked children and women echoed the groans and howls of pain from men with broken limbs and crushed genitals.

Witnessing the spectacle, a few Tollan men thought to protest against the casual mistreatment. Their officer scolded them in no uncertain terms.

"What do you think happened to the men and women Tanith captured on Nautona ? Think _they_" he pointed at the closest Atherosians "would hesitate to buy them on a Goa'uld slave market ?" He almost spat at them. "Serves them right to obey the fucking Goa'uld !"

One of his subordinates tried to argue.

"But Sir…-" he was cut short before he could end his sentence, _they don't have a choice !_

"Look at them ! Fat and happy, with those gilded robes and shiny jewels ! Do they look like they're being oppressed by the Goa'uld ?"

He had a point, the first Tollan conceded, his expression becoming one of understanding. The officer went on nonetheless.

"I'll tell you : those whores thrive on Goa'uld depredations ! I'd bet they were cheering the news when Tanith attacked us !"

By now, neighboring Drakas had noticed the argument and were listening intently. The white-and-silver uniformed man drew himself even straighter. _I'll show them us Tollans aren't weak-kneed pussies !_

He stared at his fellow Imperials, as if daring them to show otherwise, then at the Drakas eyeing him curiously, their expression showing the slightest hint of expectation. He took it as an encouragement and strutted to the nearest upper-class Atherosian, pausing just short of the middle-aged, somewhat overweight kneeling man looking at him with fluttering eyelids. He took in the rotund face, now contorted by fear, and sneered contemptuously.

"I guess your precious god cannot protect you now, does he ?"

The captive was too frightened to reply.

"Answer me, you wog !" spat the Tollan, adding a back-handed slap as emphasis. Another sweeping glance, and he drew out his sidearm. The spectators held their breath as he put the muzzle against the man's forehead, and frantic begging at last poured out of the local's mouth.

"What ? Sorry, I can't understand you !" The vicious chuckle was covered by the _whiz-crack_ of the ion-bolt pistol that cut short the jabbering voice. A nearby middle-aged woman started to scream. She must have been pretty once, but decades of indolent life had thickened her figure and made her facial features pudgy and vulgar under the heavy make-up. Probably the dead man's wife, the Tollan deduced, and kept grinning even as he switched his aim and pressed the firing stud again. Again, the sharp sound of energized ions tearing a path through air was followed by the wet _splurtch_ of a cranial cavity emptying itself explosively in a bloody spray of cooked brains.

"Fuck you all ! Fuck you, fuck you all !" the Imperial officer shouted at the prisoners, already aiming to shoot a third one. His manic grin froze at once when steel-hard fingers closed on his extended forearm and lifted it firmly, the pressure on the very threshold of being painful. Looking aside, he saw a Drakensis in recon armor. The green slitted eyes returned his gaze quietly, but there was a glimmer of amusement in them.

"I'd say they're fucked enough already" Anton de Polignac drawled in native Tollan. "Don't worry, we've planned a very special goodbye for Tanith when we leave this place" His eyes flickered aside, as if to point in the pyramid's direction where some ghouloons were already busy planting stakes in the ground.

The Imperial's arm relaxed and the merarch released his grip.

"Now, I think you folks have a job to do, don't you ?"

A nod answered him, and the Tollan glanced back to his subordinates. "All right, let's move ! We need to set up those sensor arrays before the armor guys reach the palace !"

Polignac watched them leave. One of the technicians was green-faced. The rest seemed to stomach the whole episode better.

_An interesting bunch of ferals, those Tollans_.

xxxx

Deeper into the city rolled the Draka armored vehicles, leaving a trail of dead Jaffas and townsfolk although the former weren't as numerous as one would have expected. It seemed that Tanith really had marshalled his forces for the invasion of Nautona. Therefore, the Cohortarch in charge of the mechanized assault almost hoped there would be more resistance as they closed with the palace.

The streets grew narrower for a while after they crossed the river. Thankfully, the massive stone bridge took the load without a hitch, but given the size of its arches, it wasn't surprising. On the other hand, the wooden links crossing the river at distant intervals were intended for pedestrians and the officer suspected that trying to drive even a Phalanx over those would have ended in an impromptu test of their fording capability.

He was riding at the back of the column, his head and upper torso poking out of the vehicle commander's hatch, just ahead of the small turret and behind the driver's position on the left with the cable cutter right in front. The seemingly unimportant addition had saved many an embarked soldier from the classic monowire traps used by bushmen in North America.

The 40 mm gun on his right had stayed silent so far, owing to the lack of targets. Tests on Earth had found it to be lethal against Death Gliders and Udajeets. It was a good insurance policy, but everyone counted on the Tollan fleet to keep those busy.

Inside the palace, Goa'uld and Jaffas were busy trying to make sense of what was happening. A few minutes before, an alert had come from the Chappai guard indicating they were under attack… then nothing, except a couple of house servants running in to tell about the loud noises that came from the western bank. The Tollan fleet was still far away, so it had to be a ground assault and so far the Tollans hadn't impressed in that regard. Besides, the whole region was covered by the phase disruptor field installed in a basement of the governor building.

Kopros was rather irritated. This wasn't supposed to happen ! And why couldn't the stupid Jaffas deal with it ? It was time to assert his godly dominance.

"Jaffa !" his eyes flashed imperiously as the gathered warriors stared at him "The sacred Chappai cannot be left under the blasphemers' control ! Every second their foul stench taints the soil of Atheros is a sin against the Gods !" He paused, eyeing each Jaffa directly, one after the other, then went on, addressing the senior Prime. "The palace guard will sortie and fight the invaders. The Tollan can't be too many or too far from the pyramid. Kill them or take prisoners, but retake the Chappai at all costs !"

The Jaffa bowed gravely, his face grim. "It will be done, my Lord !"

Five minutes later, the bulk of the guard force was assembled inside the wide fore court, overlooked by the three-story facade running with its pastel stones and graceful statues interspersed with gilded decorative pillars. Carefully raked gravel covered the vast yard with the exception of the stone-paved path running down the middle and connecting the building's main entrance to the massive gates of bronze-reinforced timber piercing the seven meter high peripheral wall surrounding the palatial complex and keeping the populace separated from their betters. Monumental statues of white marble lined the path on each side, four pairs of them depicting the god Tanith in various poses and outfits. One day, Kopros secretly hoped, those would be statues of himself.

The Governor's residence wasn't built as a fortress but as an administrative center and a parade of wealth. Its defensive features essentially consisted in the sturdy exterior wall and the shielded plasma towers placed at each corner with plunging fields of fire down on each side of the rectangular perimeter. Those were deemed more than enough protection against civilian riots. Besides, nobody had tried to attack the planet ever since Tanith had conquered it.

Two hundred Jaffa warriors stood in neat lines while the solid bulk of Merr'tak, their trusted officer, gave them a vey short speech.

"Jaffas ! Today we'll crush the puny Tollan blasphemers who dare defile our sacred soil ! Let it not be said that our comrades on Nautona will have alone reaped glory in combat ! Kree !"

"KREE !" the rest bellowed in unison, then promptly fell into a column, four-abreast in order to march through the exterior gates. Merr'tak watched them with pride as they repeated the oft-practiced maneuver, all strong warriors in neatly-maintained and polished armor as befitted their honorific posting. Then the two metal and wood panels cracked open rather ponderously and the little army shook itself into a brisk marching rate with proud mechanical precision.

The first ones emerged into the street outside to find it empty of its civilians, not too unsurprisingly. Nothing else seemed amiss, but then the sprawling houses and shops prevented the warriors from seeing much in any direction other than the two ends of the palace wall, whereupon the street resumed its anarchical turning and twisting.

The booming in the distance had abated by now, and the whole area sounded unnaturally quiet.

Merr'tak spared a couple seconds reflecting that the townsfolk should have been prevented from build their houses so close to the palace. Once this was over, he would strongly suggest that the whole district around the perimeter be levelled and kept empty to prevent any hostile force from approaching so closely.

"I hate this, we could stumble upon a barricade behind one of those corners with no time to react in advance…" the commander of the lead Hond commented to his gunner. Their advance was slowed down by the narrower and winding streets. More than once the vehicles had scraped against the surrounding walls, drawing sparks from stone, dislodging wooden frames and gouging packed-earth surfaces.

"I'm nearly shitting myself thinking what some Yank bushmen could do if they were here with man-portable missiles instead of those stupid medieval Jaffas" the gunner replied without interrupting his constant visual scan of the tactical picture as it was displayed on the crew compartment's all-enveloping bubble-screen.

"Thank Naldorssen's icy ass those Goa'uld apparently never heard of armored warfare"

"Well they've got those big-ass starships… ENEMY PERSONNEL, UP FRONT, TARGET !" he ended yelling as the deftly piloted tank rounded another corner and came in view of Merr'Tak's men, barely fourty meters ahead as they jogged down the palace's front-street.

The crewman reacted with preternaturally fast reflexes, even though he was Old Draka like most of the Heavy Armor veterans. His fingers danced on the controls and the tank's secondary armament spat a hail of metal downstream, where it impacted the front Jaffa ranks with devastating results. He heard his commander rattle a situation report on the radio and the metal beast lurched forward as its driver enthusistically pushed the steering stick to the stops and lifted the dozer blade attachment to its uppermost position.

Outside, the warriors spared by the initial barrage or merely wounded and still conscious watched with gaping frozen eyes as the unholy mechanical monster seemed to launch itself at them, then the valid turned tail and ran, leaving the crippled screaming in the face of their incoming doom.

As the tank rushed forward like a pouncing cheetah, grinding the dead and wounded to paste beneath its wide treads, the living fled up the street and back through the gate, though not quickly enough for a dozen stragglers who were caught by the flat metal blade and bowled aside, crushed between the tank's hull and the stone wall or simply disappeared under the treads.

The Hond continued to sweep up the passage, past the frantically closing door panels, and began to slow down as it came to the end of the straight section, leaving behind a trail of broken limbs and spilt entrails.

Right then, the stunned Jaffa gunners manning the corner towers snapped out of their shock-induced transe and the farthest one opened fire as it could depress enough to aim at the distant killer.

The bolt of plasma flashed down and away, clipping the tank's rear deck and blowing up some of the add-on armor blocks. A second followed a second later, hitting the turret roof and blasting the grenade launcher. Secondary explosions, like big firecrackers, came from the ready ammunition box as the stored projectiles cooked off.

Before the Jaffa gunner could aim a third shot, the tank's countermeasure array coughed aloud and a wall of obscuring smoke blossomed in mid-air, cutting the machine from visual observation.

And the second tank came into view and stopped where its predecessor had first fired upon the Jaffa infantry. From this position, the southernmost tower sat within the elevation angle of its main gun. The turret rotated slightly and the metal tube rose up, lining with the target. An instant later the powerful weapon spoke. Travel time was virtually instantaneous for the HEAT round and the large shell impacted the protective shield square on. While its designers never had forcefields in mind when they developed the ETC cannon and its ammunition, it nevertheless proved itself against the immaterial wall just as well as if it were a tangible plate of armor material.

In fact, the energy of the first tandem shaped charge destabillized the field locally, punching a small hole into which the follow-up jet of liquid-like metal streamed through.

The forcefield wasn't totally useless : it behaved like the external plate of a spaced protection scheme. Had there been actual armor behind, the expanding dart would have mostly wasted itself on it. Alas, the Goa'uld designers had been a little too optimistic and left the gunner basically unprotected in an open frame. Therefore the unlucky Jaffa was sprayed with a shower of very fast red-hot copper that flayed the flesh from his bones. He died seconds later, mercifully unconscious from the sheer shock.

At the other end of the wall, his comrade tried to aim at the new hostile machine and let a stream of vile cursing when he found the staff cannon couldn't depress enough. He was spouting insanities when the first Hond emerged from its cloud, having completed a neat U-turn in the cramped area, albeit with some collateral damage. While the palace wall was made of solid stone, the houses across the street weren't and a tank reversing into them wasn't something they were built to resist. The two-story wood and earth house had collapsed as the vehicle extracted its rear end from it, killing the two families who used to dwell in.

The Draka gunner fired once, and the distracted Jaffa operator died in the same manner as his brother. To top it off, two missiles streaked in from the direction of the stargate and blew off the remaining staff towers, cued in by the drone flying overhead.

As the four tanks maneuvered into overwatch positions at the corners of the perimeter, their accompanying infantry disembarked from the parked Phalanxes, muttering obscenities as they walked ankle-deep in the fresh offal smearing the street, and the point squad placed explosive charges on the great doors.

A minute later, the demolition packages were activated and a deep rumbling _boom_ resonated in the besieged city block. The directed blast showered the inner courtyard with jagged wooden shards and metallic shrapnel, denting the surface of the closest statues and shattering an extended marble arm. Nevertheless, the sculptures' ordeal protected the surviving Jaffas who had taken positions behind their bulk, and allowed them to pour plasma fire into the forcefully created opening in the hope of stemming the attacking tide that would be following.

Two soldiers were cut down by the withering fire as they tried to charge into the passage, the sheer weight of fire punching through the resilient cermet armor before they could cross the short distance under the tall porch. They dropped down on the stone floor, biting back the flaring pain of burnt flesh and broken bones, their enhanced physiology allowing them to stay conscious even as damaged vital organs failed abruptly. Immediatey after, a pair of grenades were lobbed around the corner sailed above the wounded soldiers and rolled close to the first pair of statues. A thick grey smoke poured out of the devices, obscuring the Jaffas' sight who nevertheless kept on firing blindly in the direction of the portal.

There was a short succession of loud _pops_ which, although they didn't knew it, were the sound produced by a hand-held grenade launcher as its Draka operator emptied its six-shot magazine into the passage, keeping his own body sheltered by the stone corner and relying on the sight picture repeated on his helmet display. The six projectiles crossed the short interval in the blink of an eye, their ballistic trajectory passing right between the sculpted pairs, and detonated at the distance programmed into their fuse. The grenade salvo produced a pattern of killing metal flechettes that tore into the huddled Jaffas, ignoring their protective mail and shredding their flesh.

As the plasma outpour suddenly abated, more Draka soldiers charged in tactical stance and spread into the courtyard, shooting the handful of Jaffas who were still moving, unimpeded by the smoke screen thanks to their own infrared sights.

More troopers filed in as the enclosure was secured, bringing more breaching charges to be used against the palace entrance.

Inside the lavishly decorated building, the Governor of Atheros shook himself from his stunned state. Thanks to the unobtrusive sensor feeds dotting the whole edifice, he was able to witness the appalling slaughter of his guards. Part of him was fascinated by the efficient brutality of the attackers, who didn't look like Tollans at all and used strange and loud but wickedly effective weapons.

But he was a Goa'uld first and foremost even if his options were limited. There weren't many Jaffas remaining and by the look of things they wouldn't last long trying to oppose the invaders. Another explosion, muffled by the distance and the intervening walls, reinforced the urgency of the situation.

He acted quickly. First he sent a brief subspace distress call which Tanith would hopefully pick up, then locked the palace's computer system using a DNA-based encryption key. This he hoped, would prevent the attackers from easily seizing control of the whole Goa'uld infrastructure on the planet. His duty fulfilled, it was time to think about short term survival.

**Satrian Outskirts**

**Nautona, Tollan Empire**

As days passed by under Goa'uld occupation, the once-proud planetary capital looked more and more like a ghost city. The Jaffa legions had been roaming its streets and thoroughfares, searching its houses and buildings, and rounding up every Tollan civilian they could find.

Anyone found in possession of a weapon or deemed remotely dangerous was shot at once and the badly burnt corpses were left exposed as a warning to any soul brave or foolish enough to contemplate resisting.

Looting was somewhat limited. Tanith had given very strict orders in that regard : any piece of Tollan magic -that is, any technological device- had to be left alone for examination by proper Goa'uld personnel. The Jaffas had to be kept ignorant of the true nature of their leaders' superiority or the whole "Gods" scam would be uncovered. Fortunately, they were very effectively brainwashed and most were eager to destroy any trace of "the blasphemers' sorcery" as they called it.

More than once some particularly hot-headed warrior had to be prevented from torching the house he was searching, incensed by the insolent presence of devices as mundane as a networked fridge speaking aloud the remaining amount of groceries, or an holotainment center. It was all sorcery to them, and the proper way to dispose of witchery was cleansing fire, as every civilization around the galaxy knew.

Naturally, the Jaffas weren't prevented from venting their anger on the captives as long as they kept the most valuable ones intact. By the second night of the Goa'uld occupation, there was scarcely a reasonably attractive female, and few attractive young males, who had been spared repeated raping, with the only exception of young, virgin and pretty girls, and that was but a temporary respite for their untouched state would bring much higher prices on the slave markets.

Yet the initial frenzy of raping and looting was starting to wind down. Captives were regrouped and triaged by sex, age and quality, kept in makeshift pens in the outskirts of the city under the looming shadow of the hovering Ha'taks. More arrived every hour as the planet's remaining towns and cities were invested and conquered, although the majority of the newly captured Tollans were kept on site. After all, there would be a lot of hard work to do. A few villages had already gone up in flames, the quickest way to demolish them, and chain gangs of captured Nautonans were beginning to clear the burnt rubble under the watchful eyes of Jaffa guards.

Tanith expected the mopping up to take several months of hard labor. The Tollan men would be driven to exhaustion and death, since he didn't expect them to accept the new state of affairs. While arrogant, the Goa'uld conqueror didn't delude himself into believing that this highly technological people would ever accept his rule. Those men would remain a potential threat of rebellion as long as they lived. They simply knew too much.

Mass executions, while the most straightforward way to dispose of the problem, had the inconvenient of being wasteful. It was much better practice to expend them in constructive (or, in this case, destructive) ways instead.

As things generally quieted down and the Tollan counteroffensive didn't happen, Tanith found himself touring his new dominion. Nautona was a pleasant world, kept generally clean and pristine (something he granted the Tollans) and several locations would be great places to construct magnificient palaces. Especially those tropical islands in the South. It wasn't something many of his fellow Goa'uld knew, but he loved swimming in crystal-clear, warm water with a lovely background of fine white sand and green trees. It was a pity that Nautona didn't have those tall spindly palm trees that produced big, hard-shelled fruits with the sweet nectar inside. He would definitely introduce those later.

In the meantime, he flew from location to location aboard his lavishly furnished personal Tel'Tak, a one-of-a-kind model with improved engines, cloaking field and shield. He didn't have to worry about guards : every destination was already secured by Jaffa forces, and he was only accompanied by a pair of personal servants. After all, a god didn't refill his cup by himself !

He was only five minutes away from his next stop, a particularly picturesque little town perched among mountains close to a gigantic glacier. His ship's sensors were showing a magnified picture, and the self-proclaimed god was trying to decide just where the best place would be to emplace the shining gold-plated pyramid temple he envisioned. Maybe that hillock over there…? Those timber dwellings would have to go anyway.

Tanith was opening his mouth for the brunette attendant to gracefully deposit a ruby-red grape inside when the insistent chime of the long-range communication array interrupted both motions.

A small frown furrowed his brow. It was the emergency distress chime and it could only be activated by another Goa'uld in his employ. A small hand gesture and the message was displayed before his eyes. _Atheros...?_ Just what was little Kopros up to ?

This mystery had to be cleared up. Tanith dismissed the distress text and initiated a long range subspace call. If the governor of Atheros had a communication sphere along, the call would reach him thanks to the built-in addressing logic.

Lengthy seconds passed in near silence then sound and image burst inside the ship's cockpit. Tanith recognized his underling's face, strained by something very much like fear, and he instinctively waved his hand aside. The two servants recognized the imperious gesture and left the compartment without a word.

"Lord Tanith ! Thank the stars you got the distress signal !" Kopros burst out in a hurried voice, and his liege peered closer at the scene displayed before him. The picture was bobbing as if Kopros was holding the com device in front of him while running… and that was the case apparently, as walls and ceiling scrolled in the background. It was a little sickening and Tanith clamped down on his host body's reflexive response.

"Kopros ! What in Ra's name are you doing ?" he inquired authoritatively. "And will you settle down instead of running like a mad chicken ?"

"I can't slow down ! They're coming for me !" As if to reinforce the subordinate Goa'uld's answer, a distinctive sound of staff weapon fire came from somewhere behind him, followed by strange _crack-crack_ noises and yells of pain.

"What is happening down there ? And who's coming for you ? Are the locals rebelling ?"

Kopros shook his head nervously and ducked precipitously as more sharp noises erupted and something crashed nearby. The fleeing Goa'uld didn't answer immediately and Tanith could only watch and try to make sense of the wild show happening live in front of him. The com sphere's visual sensor swivelled madly, showing the running legs of its holder, then upside down walls, then a glimpse of something humanoid at the end of a corridor, a flash like a weapon discharge and the recognizable flaring of a personal shield, Kopros' obviously. The sight shifted again, stopping for an second on a gilded inscription engraved on the wall, then panned up and Tanith recognized the transport ring station of the Atheros governor palace. As if to confirm his observation the camera moved again with Kopros, and captured the sound and sight of the ring array activating. The picture flashed white for a moment, then the connection came back.

It was definitely darker where the other Goa'uld had been transported. More motion, less frenzied this time, a stop and the sounds of fiddling with a control panel.

"Kopros ! Will you tell me what is happening now !" Tanith's tone was a bit irritated by then. A rebellion that managed to force a planetary governor into flight was something serious. And yet, the population of Atheros generally liked their governor. Was it an attack by another Goa'uld…?

At last the visual shifted again to the face of his underling. He was still looking tense but not on the verge of panic as moments before.

"My Lord" Kopros breathed out "it's the Tollan, they have sent a fleet and a ground invasion force through the Chappai !"

"What ?" Shock and surprise colored the superior Goa'uld's voice.

"When I was forced to flee the palace, the Tollan fleet was still an hour away from the planet's high orbitals, but their army didn't wait for their arrival. The assault was fast and brutal, they captured the Chapai Hall and reached the Palace soon after, and they slaughtered the Guard -"

"What, the Tollans did that ? Was the phase disruptor offline ?" That was the only explanation that made any sense and if so, then someone would pay dearly !

"My Lord" Kopros took a deep breath "the disruptor was active, and the attackers didn't use phase shifting at all. They used effective tactics and unknown weapons, including ground based war machines - in truth, they didn't look like Tollans at all"

Tanith pondered the last sentence for a short moment. The Tollans had diplomatic relations with other galactic powers, though fortunately not with the Asgard. Could they have come up with allies ?

"What about the Tollan fleet ?"

"It is a strong one, but I'm confident our space defenses can repulse them. There are enough cloaked mines and satellites to hold off a much larger force"

"Then retaking the Chappai and the capital are the priority. How many Jaffas are still with you ?"

Kopros made a sheepish face. "My Lord… the last ones died covering my escape. I ringed to the old temple in the Grey Mountains and deactivated the ring array here so they couldn't follow me"

Tanith muttered a curse then breathed deeply.

"Surely they have established a strong defense around the Chappai" he commented, then grinned. "Yet as strong as it is, I doubt it can hold off an assault by Kull Warriors"

He watched his underling echo his grin, worry leaving his features, and spoke again as the Tel'tak automatically began to descend. "As soon as my armies have retaken the ground, I will personally execute every survivor !"

**Planet Atheros**

**Tanith's Dominion**

"The little bastard escaped !" the Citizen Force Monitor spat angrily as he found himself standing near the very spot where the fleeing Goa'uld dignitary, obviously a prime target for capture, had narrowly avoided this fate thanks to the transport rings. Ghouloons and other Draka soldiers formed a perimeter around the area, waiting for the Tollan technicians to arrive. A brief examination of the control panel yielded no clue as to the fugitive's destination, apparently there were multiple transport stations around the planet - that much was made clear by the helpful notices engraved in gold on the wall - but the sneaky bastard had also locked the controls. Hopefully the Tollans would be able to unlock them. The perspective of sending greeting packages to the various Goa'uld facilities on-planet, in the form of high-yield Nq-K demolition charges, was just too tempting. It was also the default option in case the joint invading force didn't have the time, or opportunity, to thoroughly investigate the Drakas in particular were clearly interested in acquiring more Goa'uld technology, especially ships.

By now, their control of the capital city was uncontested. If any Jaffas remained alive, they were apparently keeping their heads low. The womhole from Abydos had just shut down after half an hour of continuous use and more than three thousand Domination and Imperial personnel were now present on the planet, most of them combat troops, with scientists and engineers already scrambling towards the palace where most of the technological treasure had to be.

Draka-led ghouloon squads pushed into the meandering streets like so many malignant tendrils in order to reach and empty every district. The same scene repeated itself at every house, every mansion, every shop : orders were barked in the Goa'uld tongue, doors and furniture were shattered, screaming denizens were dragged by the hair, shoved forward or simply carried away in strong ghouloon arms to the street where they joined their neighbours to be shackled, then poked and prodded with bayonets to get them walking in the right direction back towards the chosen assembly areas.

The vast majority obeyed without question, too frightened and cowed by the hulking presence of the genetically engineered warbreeds. There weren't many cases of resistance, and those were dealt with appropriately in a manner that showed everyone else that resistance was indeed futile. It usually involved the culprit being torn limb from limb by a ghouloon who then proceeded to snack on the remains, with loud grunts of contentment and rivulets of blood dripping down from their maws.

The atrocious sight was always compounded by retching sounds and the foul smell of vomit that Atherosian witnesses couldn't hold back.

"Merarch ! The townsfolks are starting to flee the city into the countryside !"

Polignac wasn't surprised by his subordinate's announcement. The aerial drone indeed showed crowds running out of the city's fringes, carrying nothing more than clothes and light baggage. Those had to be the luckiest, smartest or quickest, he reflected. The closest forest was several kilometers away and it wouldn't hide them from tracking ghouloons, but the fact was, he didn't have the manpower to both search the city and pursue the fleeing civilians. Besides, any survivor would talk and spread the fear of the mysterious attackers, which was in the long term just as well.

In the meantime, there were already enough prisoners gathered near the stargate building, and a nice collection of loot to send.

"All right. Let's make a first shipment !"

His order was relayed and a soldier punched in the coordinates for Abydos. The outgoing connection flickered into existence without a hitch and recognition codes were sent to ensure the safety of everyone involved. As the link was confirmed, the order to move was passed down to the first newly-captured serfs waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and they started to climb without even needing more encouragement. Their Draka captors watched with guarded satisfaction : those humans were already broken in spirit, and the specialized serf-handlers waiting at the other end of the interstellar bridge wouldn't have too hard a job. The manpower would be welcomed on the developing planet where mines and plantations were at last beginning to multiply, with the initial surveying work accomplished in the most promising areas.

In addition, many of the Atherosians seemed to have accomplished skills in various manual arts, from fine pottery to jewellery, if the loot was any indication. And many wenches and bucks were fine looking too. Polignac watched with amusement as the captives filed past a group of gawking Tollan soldiers, all of them ogling the naked women and making lewd comments.

"Commander Katallax" he greeted the approaching man with a satisfied smile "things do seem to be proceeding quite well, aren't they ?"

His Imperial ally made a pouty frown in response.

"Ah, I'm not entirely convinced this is setting a good example for my men, Merarch de Polignac" he stated with a chin-thrusting gesture at the scene happening at the other end of the street. "We Tollans used to pride ourselves at acting better than the Goa'uld" He added quickly "No offense intended, Merarch"

Anton replied with a sweeping gesture of magnanimous equanimity.

"Bah ! What's the point of winning if you don't get to have a little fun afterwards ?"

He went on more seriously. "Anyway, those people used to be slaves of the Goa'uld before we captured them. In truth, their lives will probably be better once they adjust to their new conditions"

"I see. Nevertheless, some writers back in the Empire have stated that advanced, progressive societies such as ours should strive to liberate the oppressed populations of the galaxy… that it is our duty to do so." A sad little smile accompanied the words that followed. "Needless to say, this opinion isn't shared by all and we didn't do much in that way, when all's said and done. Maybe if we had, Nautona wouldn't be crushed under Tanith's boot as I speak"

A short silence ensued as Anton pondered the Tollan's words. They weren't too different from what the Alliance for Democracy had spouted back during the Protracted Struggle. Again, he wondered what the Tollans would make of the Domination's whole history if they happened to learn it all. But the Tollans weren't the Yanks either. They never had developed a true equivalent to the stupid Declaration of Human Rights and seemed only distantly considering the (preposterous) idea that all men were equals.

Not for the first time, the thought flashed through his mind whether some Tollans might become Draka citizens in the future. Certainly the Domination could make a room for a few valuable, talented individuals like it had during its past history. At least, the discovery that Earth was but one little planet in a wide populated galaxy had to be accounted for in the Draka worldview. Just how much was still under question, and this very debate was all the rage back on Luna among the citizens most closely associated with the Stargate program.

He remembered one of those discussions one evening after a Pankration training session. Relaxing in the regularly swept steam room with only fellow close Draka ears, the delicate subject of the galaxy's feral humans could be discussed as freely as possible, without undue fear of Security Directorate goons listening. The general overarching consensus was unsurprisingly that the Race would "one day" master the whole galaxy. Of course, "one day" was a vague enough term to permit much speculation as to the indefinite transition period.

Few Citizens were following the Gayner-led opinion that "We Drakas ought to leave no ambiguity : any non-Draka have to be declared official Yoke-fodder at once !" Not only was it reckless considering the level of technological advancement reached by some of the Yoke-fodder, but Gayner's accomplishments in Australasia were telling either : sure, she had managed to pacify the continent-island and its smaller neighbours, but it was truly a desert called peace, swept bare by fire and biobombs, with nary a tree left standing. Worse, whole animal species were now extinct, like the kangaroos. Extinct in the sense that no living example remained around, for the genetic templates was thankfully saved in the Domination's genebanks.

If _that_ was to be the galaxy Drakas would rule upon, then in Anton's eye they shouldn't even bother.

The middle consensus, fortunately, was that the Race should adapt itself to the situation, naturally without losing sight of the ultimate goal. As to how the Tollan Empire should be treated, everyone agreed that it should be kept on the Domination's good side as long as it was favorable to do so, yet a couple voices had expressed rather more radical ideas, like attracting the most promising elements of Tollan society into the Draka sphere. They argued that the Tollans were evidently not as dumbly egalitarian as the Yanks and might even find themselves embracing the Draka ethos.

Anton found this hypothesis rather too radical. True, it was a departure back to the origins of the Domination, when the fledging state attracted the ambitious and discontents fleeing the self-styled "enlightened ideas" rotting the old order to the core in Europe and America.

In the end, there were simply too many Tollans. The Domination couldn't possibly integrate billions of metic citizens even in centuries. Therefore, the majority of the Tollans would end up serfs… or dead.

But in the meantime it didn't hurt to be polite.

"Hindsight is always razor-sharp, Commander" he finally answered. "I don't think you should bother with what-ifs. And in the larger picture… let me tell you this : men aren't created equals. It is a natural rule that some are born stronger, smarter, quicker. Life is a competition with the stronger winning, and that's true for civilizations too. Some deluded, weak minds can argue against that basic truth, and in the end events always correct those sophisms. We Drakas have always held to the rule shown by Nature and strived to be the best, which now allows us to kick Goa'uld ass" he grinned at Katallax "Our society with its hierachical division reflects this basic truth… and it works, too. As an ancient philosopher on my world once stated, _there is no greater injustice as treating equally beings who are by nature unequal_".

The Tollan officer looked thoughtful, gazing at the clear sky. The Draka's argumentation was appealing, all things considered. Still… the casual brutality they were showing was a little bothering. He reflected ruefully that it was probably a sign that he, like every Tollan, had become overly used to the clean comfortable peace of mind provided by their advanced society. Yet in a war to the brim as Tanith had unleashed on the Empire, squeamishness was a dangerous thing and his fellow people would be well advised to hear the Draka's lesson.

His perceptive ally recognized the emotional turmoil behind the man's pensive face and did his best to lighten the spirit.

"Here, Commander" he bent sideways and picked up an amber-colored, ornate glass bottle, then offered it to Katallax. "It's a local spirit and a very good one at that. Take a swill, it will make you feel better !"

The Tollan's eyes opened wider in surprise, but he took the proffered flask without undue hesitation. His eyes grew even wider as he sniffed the contents. The sheer fumes were potent enough to make him light-headed, and he took a mouthful, drinking straight from the open bottleneck. His eyes glazed as the liquid visibly travelled down his throat and a flush appeared on his cheeks.

"Gaah ! That's the smoothest liquor I've ever tasted !" he declared in a reverent voice, looking at the bottle he was holding.

His counterpart winked. "Well, there's plenty more where it came from. Once this is over I'll make sure to have a box sent to your address on Tollania"

"Oh isn't Tanith going to miss those !"

Both Drakensis and Tollan shared the ensuing laugh.

**Satrian Outskirts**

**Occupied Nautona**

**Twenty minutes later**

Reetak seethed at the news he had just received from his god. The Tollans would pay dearly for their insolence. Like many Jaffas in the service of Tanith, he had good friends on Atheros, a lovely planet that boasted some of the best taverns with absolutely first rate booze and women. The thought that filthy blasphemers were polluting its soil was enraging. Yet he kept his rage under control, for he was a warrior. Besides… the sight waiting before his eyes was making him proud. His best Jaffa legion, a thousand of the best warriors in the galaxy (in his admittedly biased opinion) was already assembled in the field where the Chappai had been emplaced, in the middle of one of the large parks dotting the conquered city. Ranks of men in chainmail, staff weapons held upright at their sides, standing tall and erect in a display of ready martial might arrayed in two blocks lining the pathway leading to the dormant Chappai. Even the sky looked ominous and dark, as near-black rolling thunderclouds billowed overhead, pushed by a chilly easterly wind. The First Prime briefly wondered if his god's anger had actually given birth to the fierce weather.

It was fitting anyway, for it symbolized the wrath of the gods that was going to befall the Tollan trespassers. A savage grin curled his mouth. From his elevated vantage point standing on a stone dais where the gate dialing pedestal was emplaced, a sight heralded the arrival of the counterattack's final element.

Coming from the distant landed Tel'Tak, three tall black humanoid figures strode purposefully towards the waiting stargate, their entire appearance foreboding and threatening. A thunderclap boomed and rumbled overhead as the trio reached the first rank of Jaffas and thick heavy raindrops started to hammer the crowd, gathering weight in a rapid crescendo until it felt as if an ocean was falling down on the waiting Jaffas. They didn't budge, reveling in the sheer display of nature's power and watching with awe the black-shrouded figures treading betwen their ranks, looking for all the world oblivious to the water cascading down their gleaming wet armor.

Suddenly a clamor began, born out of one throat, then spreading more, and more, until every Jaffa present joined in the loud chanting, punctuated by the rythmic hammering of staff weapons impacting on the ground and the occasional thunderclap bathing the whole field into white actinic light.

"Kull ! Kull ! KULL ! KULL !"

The collective incantation pitched up, even louder than thought possible, bellowed by a thousand powerful Jaffa throats at the top of their lungs, until it drowned even the pervasive beating of the rain.

The three jet-black Kull Warriors made their way up the path, betraying no sign of acknowledgment of the violent frenzy they were arousing all around, which made the clamor even wilder and louder.

"**KULL ! KULL ! KULL ! KULL !"**

At last, they stopped in front of the hollow metal disk and Reetak punched in the keys to the besieged world. The stargate activated with the usual ka-woosh, its eerie blue light bathing the figures beyond.

Reetak raised his arm imperiously and the chanting stopped abruptly.

"Jaffa ! Kree !"

Both blocks of warriors closed in a single massive column behind the three armored figures, and after a single second of anticipation, the unstoppable juggernauts entered the shimmering event horizon.


	17. Chapter 17

So to end the long wait, here's what ended up as Chapter 17. There will be a chapter 18 after it since it's already 25K words and ends in a nice cliffhanger :-D

**Chapter 17**

**Collateral Damage**

**Planet Atheros**

**Tanith's Dominion**

"Incoming wormhole !"

The notice was broadcasted on the net for every Draka and Tollan personnel currently on the planet. A load of captives and loot had just gone through to Abydos, and the stargate activating again wasn't abnormal. It could be Abydos sending a message or the requested additional personnel already… although the time elapsed was quite short. Or it could be the Goa'uld Tanith finally reacting to the trespassing on his domain.

In any case, the firepower arrayed around the truncated pyramid housing the interstellar portal was ready to cope with any Jaffa assault.

Two hundred soldiers and ghouloons had rifles trained up at the building's top level, where any arrival would be coming from. While nobody stood by the stargate itself, against the very possibility that their enemy might act smartly and send a clearing package first, several claymore traps were emplaced, ready to blast any Jaffa to bits even before the shooters outside needed to do anything.

While the heavy units were away, namely the four Hond VI tanks and their accompanying IFVs, additional firepower was provided on site by the three power armor suits and their assortment of large weaponry standing guard at the foot of the monument-sized staircase.

"If those are Jaffas, they'll find it like sticking their dicks in a meat-grinder"

Katallax chuckled at his Draka counterpart's observation. Yes, the bastards would be shredded and that thought seemed to cheer him up. Especially combined with the euphorizing effect of liquor, one of the many valuable items looted from the surrounding shops and cellars. While one could believe that a technologically primitive world like Atheros might present no attraction whatsoever to men coming from a highly advanced one like Tolla, that belief was simply wrong. Men were men, and many pleasures of life didn't require starship-grade technology, beginning with food and drink. Arts and crafts were another. The intricately wrought jewels, fine fabrics, and other items produced by the artisans of Atheros would surely yield nice prices if they were ever sold on the Tollan market. At least, Katallax thought a little surly, if the Drakas left anything behind them. They sure seemed to have an eye for loot. Including human loot. And judging from their reactions, some of his fellow Tollans might not ask themselves too many existential questions before doing the same.

"If that's Abydos, we should be receiving an authentication code…" Polignac frowned minutely. As if to confirm his concern, something emerged from the water-like vertical surface, or rather, three _somethings_. The picture on his perscomp was clear, relayed from the drone sitting close to the stargate. The Tollan officer glanced at the sight and nearly blanched, frozen in recognition. Next to him, the Merarch reached the same conclusion, identifying the newcomers from the description provided by the Domination's provisional "ally". The three black shapes had to be the infamous and nigh-unstoppable Kull Warriors.

Well, the Race would see about that.

His Tollan companion was still gaping at the display when Anton reacted. If half the things about those Kulls were true then things would be heating up quickly. Reaching for the human's shoulder, he gave a sharp jolt and spoke hurriedly as the Imperial stared at him in surprise.

"Get yourself and your men out of sight, now !"

Katallax nodded jumpily and reached for his wristcom. Seeing that the man was out of his daze, Anton hastily grabbed his helmet. As he proceeded to put it back on his head, a loud _Bang_ came from the top of the pyramid, the sound of multiple directed anti-personnel mines detonating simultaneously. The fury of the blast was contained by the stone walls even as a hail of metal flayed their inner side. The claymores were arrayed in two parallel lines, perpendicular to the stargate itself, so as to catch incoming hostiles and shred them in the lethal crossfire without threatening to damage the ring-shaped device.

Had their targets been Jaffas, they would indeed have ended up smattered on the walls.

As it was though, the three Kull Warriors were left standing without a scratch on their jet-black armor. The beings weren't very emotional. In fact, their minds were quite single-minded for their sole reason for existing was to kill the enemies of Anubis, and they usually went at it with mechanical detachment and a complete absence of fear that wasn't due to the safety provided by their suits' protective properties.

Therefore, they took the mine blast with as much concern as a speeding car driver might have for a bug crashing on the windshield and walked forward in lockstep, wrist-mounted blasters held ready, waiting for their sensors to provide a target.

And they did. As soon as the trio exited the covered area, becoming visible for all to see, they found themselves the converging aimpoint of every weapon arrayed outside. The whole place erupted in gunfire at the Draka commander's signal. Thousands of synthcrystal bullets hurtled downrange every second, all of them superbly aimed at the three humanoid targets, and splattered themselves to dust and fragments on the impervious armor. The resultant cloud of particles hung around the alien warriors like an iridescent cloud, catching the sunlight and producing myriads of fleeting miniature rainbows. Alas, the pretty show was all the result achieved by the rifle ammunition for a couple of seconds, then heavier caliber weaponry joined in. Grenades burst, dispelling the light crystalline fog but achieving nothing more, then 20 mm shells streamed in from the autocannons carried by the power armor, the salvos of high velocity rounds flattening themselves on the black armor plates in strings of stroboscopic flashes.

None of it seemed to bother the Kull Warriors, to every Draka's disbelief. Then a smoke trail blazed into existence, like a straight line cutting through the air, followed by more as hypervelocity anti-armor rockets were launched from shoulder launchers. The powerful weapons could punch through a main battle tank's side armor at close range, the very range at which they were fired then. Not even the Anubis-created protective suits could fully ignore those. The sheer kinetic energy washed through the inertial compensating circuits and the faceless soldiers staggered aside like drunken boxers, arm flailing in order to remain upright.

Fortunately for them, and unfortunately for their adversaries, the rocket launchers took a few seconds to reload, even by Draka operators, and the brief lull in the fire enabled the Kulls to regain their balance. And then they chose to answer the welcoming message.

The wrist blaster that was their primary armament had been upgraded since the first Kull Warrior left the Tartarus facility. The first version tended to overheat when fired for more than a dozen heartbeats. The improved one benefited from enlarged naquadah based heat exchangers, which allowed for near-continuous firing at maximum power.

Now the three creatures used this ability to the fullest, sending quasi-continuous streams of energetic plasma, almost solid beams travelling far faster than staff weapon bolts with each pulse set to contain as much destructive power as a standard portable staff cannon.

The combination of very high muzzle velocity and computer-assisted aiming meant that each Kull only had to superimpose his projected aimpoint over the carats designating enemy soldiers in his helmet display. Even a Jaffa could have done it.

This much improved effectiveness came as a very nasty surprise for the Drakas. The three power armor suits were targeted first by the Kulls' return fire. Plasma stream impacted the resilient cermet plating, but it couldn't sustain this sort of bombardment for more than a half-second at best. Before the surprised operators could throw themselves out of the line of fire, jets of flame and sparks flared brightly as the suits were penetrated. The Kulls maliciously walked their fire over the tall bulky shapes, blowing up hidden power feeds in showers of sparks, blasting weapon attachment points and ammo magazines in strings of secondary explosions and pulverizing the vulnerable biological matter inside the mechanical shells. The three operators were the first Draka casualties of Tanith's counterattack, flesh and tissue flash-vaporized as body fluids turned to overheated steam, the sudden overpressure venting itself through the holed carapaces in geyser-like pink spouts of vapor and micronized gore.

The quick demise of the powerful suits was a shock, although the Domination's soldiers were hardened by training and experience and didn't freeze in the face of death. It was clear however that Draka weapon fire did nothing to stop the enemy warriors, while they were in turn highly vulnerable to the plasma streams surging from the Kull's overwatching position.

Three beams of blazing destruction swept across the area in front of the pyramid, digging lines of overlapping craters in the ground, shattering walls, setting fire to combustible materials laying close to the blasts. Draka infantrymen and ghouloon troopers were forced to dive out of the fire and scramble for cover as the blueish pulses trailed them, but a handful, too slow or rather plain unlucky, were cut down in mid-flight, the ferocious energy rounds jerking bodies around under the reactive force of vaporizing cermet. Not even Drakensis physiology or ghouloon bulky resilience could sustain the grievous damage inflicted by superdense hypervelocity plasma tearing through their flesh, and red casualty warnings flashed through their officers' helmet displays.

The majority of the combatants still managed to retreat out of immediate danger, and three Kull Warriors couldn't possibly target everyone at the same time. Nevertheless, they effectively disrupted the defence around the pyramidal building, and their Jaffa followers took advantage of the Draka gunners being pinned down, surging out of the stargate and around the black-suited creatures, laying down plasma fire of their own as they began to descend the steps.

Return fire, albeit weakened, claimed dozens of the mail-clad warriors, but Polignac's soldiers had to pop and shoot, then scoot away from the Kull counterfire they had attracted in the process.

More Drakas died that way or were grievously injured when hit by blaster pulses. A single hit anywhere on the torso or the head was instantly lethal, a hit on a limb blew it off messily. Standard humans would die very soon after from shock and blood loss, only the Drakensis' reinforced physiology could sustain such brutal trauma and even remain conscious and able to move, thanks to the self-sealing vascular system and the flood of adrenaline temporarily boosting their already superior metabolism.

Polignac's face was hard. Never before had the Race faced such a one-sided fight. While the Jaffas were laughable, those Kull Warriors were every way the formidable adversary described by the Tollans. They couldn't be invincible though. They could be killed, usually through the application of starship-grade weaponry. Unfortunately, this had the annoying side effect of destroying everything else in the area. Not something you wanted to do in the vicinity of friendly personnel.

So, Anton thought, it would have to be up close and personal. He doubted those warriors could physically overpower a ghouloon or a Drakensis, but the problem was surviving long enough to reach hand-to-hand fighting range. With the Jaffas now surging in support, there was no way his forces around the pyramid could swarm the black juggernauts and force them into submission.

The bright side of the situation was, they were fighting in a city, and he had tanks. With that, he reached a decision.

Reetak's Jaffas cheered and hollered in triumph as their opponents started to retreat, although it was an ordered and controlled one and not a rout, with the ghouloons providing most of the covering fire, sacrificing their lives to protect the beings they were genetically programmed to serve. Smoke grenades burst in front of the Drakas' former positions, cutting the Jaffas' sight and obscuring the retreat maneuver as the last soldiers ran around corners into relative safety.

All around the city, the scattered search squads received new orders and began to move to reinforce their comrades setting up the new defense line. The enemy warriors would undoubtly head for the governor's palace. It would be urban warfare, up close and personal, the kind that Earth armies had experienced often enough. The plan was simple in outline, like every good plan : attrit the Jaffas, strip the Kull Warriors' from their support, then pounce and crush them in the narrow confines of the city.

As Polignac jogged deeper inside the planetary capital, he reflected on the fearsome power exhibited by Tanith's elite warriors. _Now that's a worthy opponent for us. _

**ITN Majestic**

**Task Force Avenger**

"Incoming update from planetside, Commander ! The ground force was engaged by Kull Warriors coming from the stargate !" The Tollan communication officer raised his head above the top of his console, a certain nervousness showing in his face. Everyone feared the unstoppable creatures's reputation, built in the handful of engagements between Tanith's ground forces and Tollan infantry.

Subcommander Anthim glanced aside at the blonde woman in the foreign uniform. Not really a uniform, actually, a Domination Space Force skinsuit. The (relatively) lightweight garment was standard attire in Draka-crewed ships, a self-contained space suit, vacuum-rated and proof against small shrapnel as well as moderate amounts of hard radiation. It could make the difference between death and survival provided that rescue wasn't too long in coming.

Gwendolyn felt slightly conspicuous in her full-body outfit, the lumps and bumps of power and life-support hardware protruding on the back and the shiny mirrored surface finish. Her entrance on the bridge, following the call to general quarter, was followed by every pair of eye, all of them showing a good measure of puzzlment and in a few cases amusement. Everyone else was still wearing the same duty uniforms, something she found rather foolish. The reply consisted in a declaration of faith in Tollan naval technology, particularly the internal emergency forcefields that would activate in case of a hull breach in order to keep atmosphere and crewmen inside.

In the Draka's mind, such blind confidence in inanimate matter was a good way to die prematurely, and she kept it at that, unwilling to debate it further.

"I hope your fellows down there know what they're doing"

Gwen suppressed a shrug. "Of course they are. I hope you people do, as well" her reply came out with enough sweety tartness to cut short any argument. Her interlocutor blinked once, then turned away.

"We've been practicing space warfare for centuries, Cohortarch Ingolfsson." Anthim put just enough emphasis on centuries to dispell enough thought that the Empire wasn't competent enough in the tall woman's eyes. "Of course a fresh viewpoint can sometimes provide interesting new ideas" he finished with a smile. After all they were allies and working towards the same goal. Besides… it just wasn't possible to be rude with the attractively magnetic Draka. In the couple days she had been spending aboard everyone had found himself drawn into the foreign woman's charisma. It was hard not too, she was smart, witty, charming, and extremely seductive.

If the Domination had selected their best-presenting officers for this liaison work, then in Anthim's mind Ingolfsson's superiors had done a truly excellent choice.

And his last comment was sincere. The cloaked Goa'uld defenses were a thorn in the ITN's side, yet faced with the problem their Draka counterparts had come up with a solution that was elegant in its brutal simplicity. The following simulations had shown the soundness of the idea, and the task force's fabricators had spent all the time in transit churning the required devices from Draka-provided blueprints.

"In any case, we're reaching Activation Point" Ship Commander Olmoc chimed in, his gaze intent on the tactical plot. Pale gold blocks highlighted the probable areas where enemy defensive assets should logically be emplaced. Normally, such a vague localization would be useless for targeting, since even a fleet couldn't hope to clear out millions of cubic kilometers with random energy weapon fire.

As the blue dots figuring the Tollan ships crept forward, closer and closer to the imaginary line where they would reach the maximum predicted engagement envelope of the Goa'uld satellites, the countdown established by _Majestic_'s Tactical and Gunnery officers reached zero. Confirmation messages and electric blue lines projected across the holoplot, from the Tollan ship icons to the zone of space around Atheros.

"Vectors checked, engagement sectors allocated across the fleet, Commander !"

"Very well" Olmoc bared his teeth as everyone else tensed imperceptibly "Execute Lightstrip !"

In a crisp display of automated synchronization, thousands of luminous silver dots seemed to erupt from the open hangars of the task force, turning sharply once clear of the white hulls to dart away on memorized trajectories. The plain, two meter long oblong projectiles were dumb simpletons, with no seeker heads to speak of, merely a small inertial guidance pack piloting a commercial-grade ion-gravitic engine. The overstressed impellers, taken from intrasystem shuttle designs, would burn out in minutes if they even survived their tiny power source. It didn't matter, for they were eminently expendable. In fact, their only purpose was to deliver the Draka-pattern fusion warhead at the right place in the right instant.

The closest Goa'uld killsats orbited a mere hundred thousand kilometers ahead. Their collective, networked intelligence briefly considered the myriad objects rushing towards their position. It was confusing. None of the satellites were directly targeted, but the incoming vectors would envelope the whole area of space in a regular, three-dimensional virtual mesh. It looked like a clearing sweep… but deeper scans showed no trace of a naquadah explosive warhead. Further calculations, operated in a blink of time, analyzed the contents of what should constitute the approaching missiles' payload. If the Goa'uld-built logic had been capable of emotion, it would have shrugged in disdain at the piddly ten megaton explosive force contained inside the hydrogen isotopes. What could those things expect to achieve outside of a short-lived fireworks show, the groupmind didn't know.

Briefly, it considered whether to engage the low-threat missiles, then decided that revealing the cloaked satellites' positions wasn't worth the pleasure of blowing off the little gnats.

Had a real Goa'uld, Kopros for example, been around to analyze he same picture, the decision might have been overridden. Alas, Kopros was still hiding away in a dusty dark temple with little in the way of information.

Therefore, the horde crossed the intervening space unharmed and each missile reached its dedicated destination at the same moment. Their selfless dedication was fulfilled in the infinitesimal timespan of their collective destruction, an orgasm of liberated energy that was as bright as it was brief, thousands of thermonuclear reactions happening all around the globe of Atheros from low to high orbit, saturating the whole volume of space in hard radiation and light. It was, in a short moment, the world's largest electronic flash.

As intense as it was, the trinium-clad Goa'uld weapon platforms were not physically harmed by it. Nor did the temporary disruption of their sensor capacity long enough to matter.

As the rain of X-Ray and gamma radiation dried, the defender logic did its disincarnated equivalent of a shrug and resumed its patient waiting in ambush for the far juicier Tollan targets.

"It worked, Commander ! We're getting the raw sensor data right now !" Larian anounced with professional ravishment.

While the instantaneous thermonuclear annihilation hadn't produced any damage to the Goa'uld orbital facilities, that had never been its goal. The whole point was to provide a sudden spike of background radiation, a veritable flashbulb whose emitted energy uniformly filled every cubic meter of space around the planet… save the bubble-like volumes covered by a cloaking field. Those distorted and bent incoming energy around them, acting like wide-spectrum metamaterial lenses and thus making invisible whatever laid inside their embrace.

There was a limitation to the energy they were built to smoothly warp around, however. As the hard radiation wave washed over from every direction, the overtaxed fields fluctuated, producing a very brief tell-tale shimmer in the high energy bands, a shimmer that was caught by the appropriate sensors aboard the Tollan ships. The raw sensor take and its gigabytes of data, was immediately processed through the filtering algorithms written specially for this task, and a scant couple seconds later the triumphant voice of the Senior Gunnery Officer reported excitedly on the final output.

"We've got them, Commander !"

Right on cue, the holoplot changed, the pale gold chunks dissolved and dozens, then hundreds of discrete icons appeared in their place, marking the firm locations of the waiting defenses.

"Set targeting orders and disseminate firing solutions, I want a gun set on every single Goa'uld piece of junk !"

The highly automated process of allocating firing solutions throughout the task force only required a few inputs from the bridge officer, and acknowledgments came back from his counterparts aboard every vessel.

"Fire plan checked and locked in the gunnery directors, Commander ! On your order !"

Olmoc leaned forward on his command chair and touched the gently pulsing activation button, holding his finger atop the neural-sensitive surface for a small instant. _Majestic's_ tactical computer recognized both mechanical and neural-impulse signals and lifted the central locks on every targeted weapon.

Every ion cannon was already pointed on the predicted aimpoint, the finely tuned governors on each turret maintaining the tubes aligned along the right vector even as the warships kept moved forward. In a single, fateful instant, every cannon in the fleet spat a burst of energized ion slugs at speeds far above what any ground-based weapon could produce inside an atmosphere. The massive salvo flashed across the void, impacting seconds later with superb accuracy. Lightning strobed in short-lived new constellations as Goa'uld weapon satellites and proximity mines were torn apart in violent explosions, the unleashed fury of Tollan ion cannons striking defenseless targets that still felt secure behind their cloaks.

The initial salvo destroyed hundreds of the surprised platforms, and then the still numerous survivors began to maneuver evasively. Their cloaks weren't rated for this though and they seemed to flash into existence, the useless cloaking fields replaced by more relevant energy shields. Subsequent ion salvos lost their initial accuracy, missing evading targets by scant meters or striking near-misses and glancing blows that didn't penetrate the weak shields. Yet more of their number died uselessly, and the remaining networked logic decided it was time to answer in kind.

The larger platforms stopped evading for a short moment, just enough to take aim at the ships in range and loose bolts of plasma downrange. The controlling mind had opted for a maximum yield output, rightly choosing between durability and effectiveness.

Overloaded circuits began to scream silently at the manifest abuse, but their complaints were ignored against the overarching need to destroy the enemy vessels.

As capital-grade plasma bolts impacted the Tollan shields, dropping their strength precipitously, the Imperial tacticians adjusted their fire plan, concentrating the heavy ion turrets onto the more urgent threats but keeping the medium and light guns tasked towards clearing the thick minefields.

The task force also had to brake down by now in order to achieve a zero-zero rendez-vous in orbit of the planet, and the dropping speed increased the accuracy of both sides' weapons.

More Goa'uld satellites died but Tollan destroyers began to drift out of formation, their weaker shields overwhelmed first, allowing the compacted star-matter to claw and bite at their hulls, tearing stadium-sized panels apart and denuding the compartments behind. Power and data conduits were cut and automatic damage control routines tried to reroute through unaffected sectors while emergency internal fields closed against the vacuum, but crewmembers were caught outside the safety net, screaming silently, and swallowed by the cold deathly embrace of space.

Aboard the destroyer _ITN Vigilant Guardian,_ Tetrarch Arminius Vöhn blessed his own forethought as well as the Domination's engineers, when a Goa'uld plasma round impacted straight through burnt-out shielding into the forward hull, burning and smashing through three decks to expend its last blazes inside the graceful ship's command bridge. The room was scoured by incandescent gas and molten metal, killing every Tollan crewman instantly even before bodies and broken equipments were sucked out by the explosive decompression.

Tetrarch Vöhn's mind blanked out as his surroundings disappeared in a white flash and his body was forcefully hurtled away in the wildest rollercoaster ride he'd ever experienced, then relative calm and weightlessness allowed him to to regain his awareness. Opening his eyes, he found the black background of space over which tumbled charred debris and human remains, then his gaze picked up the blackened dorsal hull of _Vigilant Guardian,_ rolling slowly off-axis, lights flickering inside the dark gaping wound cutting through its white skin and casting spark-like glitters across frozen water crystals from the escaping atmosphere.

He was also tumbling slowly, and training reasserted itself. Vöhn countered the erratic motion with the suit's built-in emergency compressed gas thrusters, then took a good look at himself. His previously pristine suit was badly burnt, its reflective surface turned matte black by the ravening flame, but the damage was superficial. His life support was fully operational, and the emergency transponder was active.

Letting a short sigh, he settled himself in a good position to watch the continuing fireworks as the rest of the fleet seemed to drift away. Fortunately, no enemy weapon fire came closer. Since he was out of the fight, he reflected, he might as well enjoy the show until someone rescued him.

**Planet Atheros**

**Groundside**

"Fall back !"

"Fire in the hole !"

The warnings came a scant second before the sharp string of detonations, itself followed by the avalanche-sound of two multi-storey houses crashing down in a barely controlled manner, their load-bearing walls and beams sheared by hastily but deftly emplaced demolition charges. Tons of stonework, timber and brick cascaded down into the street below in a rising cloud of dust, effectively forming a barricade as well as burying a dozen Jaffas and more importantly, one of the rampaging Kull Warriors.

The Draka forces had been engaged in a fighting retreat since the last fifteen minutes as they were pursued by the horde of Tanith's minions, who were apparently very pissed at their presence and very determined to repair the perceived affront. Even with their limited accuracy, enough Jaffas firing staff blasts in a narrow street made for an effective barrage, especially when the opposition couldn't linger too much in visual range of the tank-like Kulls.

Even firing from behind a corner wasn't risk free. After the initial surprise, the black soldiers had quickly learnt to shoot at the cover itself, blasting the material with ease and forcing the soldier behind to backstep precipitously. A few ghouloons died in the first five minutes trying to rush the closest Kull, only to be cut down by close-ranged plasma fire. Yet Tanith's warriors had to advance cautiously as well, for if the creations of Anubis were virtually impervious to enemy weapons, the Jaffas weren't, and the three creatures were aware of the need to keep a screening force of the more fragile combatants lest they be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

While two of them were born shortly before the destruction of their birthing place, their leader was older, more experienced, having survived every engagement since his activation with regular sarcophagus use to sustain his overstressed body's life functions. He remembered the first months when his brethren and himself had been unstoppable. Many planets had fallen to their assaults, many Ha'taks captured by boarding as enemy Jaffas were unable to dent the jet-black armor and even Goa'uld hand devices were ineffective, something a few minor allies of Lord Yu had realized with dismay right before their death.

Anubis' elite soldiers had wrought havoc around the galaxy before their opponents started to implement effective countermeasures. A pair of Kull Warriors attacking an important shipyard on a planet controlled by Apophis were blown to atoms when the enemy god's First Prime took the decision to aim capital Ha'tak cannons at the spot of ground where the burning facility used to lay, having reached the conclusion that the shipyard was lost anyway. The resulting fireball had taken out the Kulls, the shipyard, the slave camps nearby, and left a crater the size of a large city under a huge towering mushroom cloud that must have been visible all the way to the stargate at the other end of the continental mass.

The same scenario was repeated a few times later, but it required a capital ship on station, and no Goa'uld enjoyed having to annihilate his own possessions, which let the Kulls mostly immune to that kind of massive retaliation.

Until… the Kull leader remembered that day where he and five of his breed, accompanied by a Jaffa legion, had assaulted one of Lord Yu's mining worlds through the Chappai. The attack went well at first, intel had been right on the absence of enemy motherships, and the first objective was destroyed with nary a loss. They were on their way to the second objective, a trinium extraction and refining center, when Yu's response force gated in. The warriors of Anubis weren't worried by the troops appearing in their rear. Yu's Jaffas would be swept away on the return trip.

Except those weren't ordinary Jaffas but Yu's new, and yet unknown, Dragon Guards, wearing armor that rivaled the Kulls' and weapons that were a threat to the previously unstoppable soldiers. And there was a hundred of them, supported by five times their number in ordinary Jaffas. They had engaged Anubis' force in the field. The battle was fierce and brutal, both armies met close to the mining facility on cleared ground and advanced towards one another, line against line, with the stronger units in the center as doctrine demanded. Kulls and Dragons pounded each others with blaster and staff rifle fire with little result, but the latter were more numerous and could afford to divert some of their firepower against the opposing Jaffas, thus negating the number imbalance.

Several hundred warriors of both sides were already down, dead or incapacitated, when the formations finally met in close combat and the battle dissolved into melee fighting, and then the casualty rate skyrocketed.

The senior Kull remembered the confusion and noise, weapon discharges and screams of pain and defiance, meaty thuds of staff striking flesh, dust clouding the battlefield as otherwise undistinguishable warriors searched for an enemy tattoo on each other's forehead. And the peripheral fighting became secondary when the Dragon Guards entered the fray with sound-amplified martial yells and raised swords in each hand.

His brothers and himself quickly found that they were outmatched in close combat. While their blasters were more effective at such close range, striking down adversaries with repeated hits on heads and limbs, the forcefield reinforced swords proved adept at cutting through the Kull suit's bodyglove where it was exposed on the joints.

A black-clad warrior fell down, spurting blood from a severed arm, then another, nearly decapitated with a forceblade embedded in his neck. The remaining ones briefly conferred with one another as they fought on, in the abbreviated, concise language subset specially developed for their own communication needs. Their supporting Jaffas were going down at a rapid rate and against Yu's new soldiers their probability of survival, not even mission success, was dropping by the second.

The last three Kull Warriors reached a consensus. Their lord Anubis had to learn of this new development. The randomly-picked survivor ran away at top speed, ignoring the weapon fire striking his back and the abrupt disappearance of his brothers' beacons as he sped out of the battlefield, blasting the Jaffas blocking his way. He didn't stop running until he reached the Chappai and dialed out.

Lord Anubis took the news better than his defeated minion had expected. Evidently the Supreme Lord wasn't too surprised that his enemies had finally developed a counter to his best weapon. Later, after a dozen more encounters with the Dragon Guards, the decision was made to retire most surviving Kull Warriors from front-line duty. While spies in Yu's court told that the Guards weren't more than a thousand in number and kept as a central, rapid reaction force, the loss of Tartarus meant that wasting the remaining Kulls against their nemesis, of which Yu could readily manufacture replacements faster, was unwise.

At least until another facility replaced Tartarus. But Lord Anubis didn't seem so impatient to resume production of his breed, something the specialized being found vaguely puzzling when he found himself actually thinking about things. Maybe the Supreme Lord was dissatisfied with his kind, he reflected. Or maybe he was going to replace them with even better combatants.

In any case, he and the majority of his brothers were reassigned to serve the Supreme Lord's vassals, such as Lord Tanith, where they were less likely to encounter such dangerous threats. And at first the prediction was verified. Tollan soldiers folded before the Kulls, and Goa'uld space superiority meant the human blasphemers were able to direct orbital fire only twice, which still resulted in a pair of casualties. Yet the humans couldn't repeat the method on their colonized planets, where the same application of firepower would devastate inhabited land.

So life was good again. Until now, the Kull found himself thinking with mild irritation as tons of debris prevented him from moving a limb. Those humans were devious, he had to admit. Fortunately, his two brothers were already laying down covering fire as Jaffas started to dig into the rubble. He only had to wait until they could extract him from the trap. It was only a minor nuisance, not like those very fast kinetic impactors back at the Chappai building. Two of those had felt like being out of armor and used as a mastaba training sack by particularly big and brutal Jaffas. Hell, it had even made a small dent on his arm plating.

Being unable to move, it was as good a time as any to reflect on this new type of enemy that didn't seem to use energy weapons yet possessed armor able to shrug off hits from staff weapons. It was a good thing his own plasma repeaters could dish out superior firepower. Praise Lord Anubis for His wisdom.

While the main axis of advance was just stalled by the makeshift barricade cutting the avenue, fighting resumed in the side streets, where Jaffa assault groups laid down copious amounts of plasma fire, taking turns to avoid overheating their weapons. They were advantaged by the virtually unlimited nature of their ammunition supply, their opponents, while less profligate in expending bullets and grenades, still had to make every hit count. It was a battle of attrition, firepower versus firepower, accuracy being secondary in the narrow confines. Apparently, the Jaffas were only afraid of setting fire to half the city. Still many houses were on fire and only the welcome absence of wind prevented it from spreading and becoming a raging inferno.

Suddenly, the combatants paused for a brief moment as the entire sky turned brighter, its deep blue field flaring almost white. The effect was gone almost as soon, leaving the Jaffas gazing up and wondering what sort of magic they had just witnessed. Some of them, frozen out of cover, died on the spot as opportunistic riflemen took snapshots at exposed heads, and then the fighting resumed.

"That must be the fleet"

"Time for them to earn their pay too !"

Katallax heard his fellow Tollan soldiers commenting and repressed a snort. So far they, himself included, had mostly been running away and cowering out of sight of the Jaffa and Kull Warrior counterattackers, relying on the Drakas and their ghouloon minions to do the fighting for them. Rare were the Imperial troopers who had fired a shot at the enemy today. To be fair, the Tollan contingent on Atheros was almost entirely comprised of technical specialists, most of them already busy searching the governor's palace for intelligence and trying to unlock the computer system there.

The Commander and his bodyguard unit were heading for the large amphitheater sitting on the small hill south west of the stargate pyramid, where they would have a commanding view of both the former building and the governoral palace. His Draka counterpart would head there as well if the Goa'uld advance couldn't be contained. The large circular stone arena would make a nice redoubt. But the Merarch had other cards to play in the meantime, even assuming the fleet couldn't approach close enough to bring additional support. Not that he intended to stand anywhere near a heavy ion cannon strike.

In near space TF Avenger crept closer to the planet, reducing speed as it did so. Enemy fire was abating, many Goa'uld defense satellites reduced to drifting, cooling clouds and scattered debris, and the minefields closest to the fleet were showing the effect of the constant barrage produced by the white vessels' secondary weapons. Multiple breaches cut through the mass of near-defenseless mines, breaches that were being turned into safe lanes that should allow passage to the fleet unhindered by the more distant, intact defenses.

Arminius Vöhn sat, or rather drifted in space in a relaxed, semi-foetal posture. Lesser men might have been terrified by the weightless, empty void around them, but he was a veteran spacer, and a Draka. He had conquered this particular fear long ago. Even the prospect of death had to be faced with stoïcism and steadfastness, a lesson drilled into every young Citizen from childhood. His lifesupport was good for another twenty-four hours, but that wasn't his most pressing concern. No, the immediate risk was flying at high speed straight towards the planet ahead. The Tollan destroyer he was stationed on was crippled as the fleet was decelerating hard, meaning he, along with whatever debris and the disabled ship itself, were now ahead of the main fleet and the gap was constantly increasing. Fortunately, ship formations in space were wide enough and _Vigilant Guardian_ had flown at the edge of the task force's screening element, so the fire still being exchanged was passing far on his right. The spectacular display was something to see, and Vöhn mused that at least if he had to die there, it would be a fiery one, turning into a meteor inside Atheros' atmosphere.

Thousands of kilometers away, a cloaked Tel'Tak was monitoring the battle taking place over the planet. It had remained undetected so far from both the planetary defenses and the Tollan fleet, for its cloaking system was far more effective than anything in the System Lords' arsenal, not the cheap mass-produced generator installed on most stealth transports around the galaxy but an optimized and customized device. It was a compromise as always, in this case the increased stealth came at the price of a weaker shield. But the ship's mission wasn't combat, its crew were observers, not fighters.

"Dear, the Tollies are really serious about this"

"And smart too. Using out-of-control nuclear fusion devices as flares to detect the cloaked satellites ? I would never have thought it"

"I wonder if…"

"Hmmm ?"

"Those new allies of theirs are behind that"

"We don't know much about them"

"But it would fit nicely with their use of slug-throwers, no ? Brutal, primitive and effective"

"I suppose. Too bad the council ruled against direct contact"

"We must be cautious. For all their advanced technology the Tollans are foolish and arrogant themselves, remember ?"

"Yes. We must gather data so the council can reach a decision regarding those newcomers. Everything else is secondary."

The two crewmembers, clad in the uniform of their race, whitish fabric and pale gold leather trimmings, clean and well-groomed as befitted Tok'ra line operatives, resumed their vigil, monitoring the sensors and recording as much data as their systems could allow.

Minutes passed then the first crewmember perked up as the orderly formation of Goa'uld small craft waiting close to the upper atmosphere showed a minor disturbance.

"Jolinar, look, here's one Al'kesh darting up and out of formation"

"Just was is it doing, Martouf ?"

"Let me see…" The male Tok'ra bent closer and manipulated the controls to focus on the anomaly. A window sprang to life before the windscreen, displaying a magnified synthetic view and a line appeared, materializing the moving bomber's vector even as it shifted with acceleration.

"Look at this, he's pulling every drop of engine power !"

"What is he expecting to do ? Charge the Tollan fleet alone ? Even Jaffas aren't that stupid !"

The pair of operatives watched in curious silence as the vector curve elongated, then started to shrink as vigorously as it had previously lengthened. The lone Al'kesh came to a relative rest minutes later, and Martouf increased sensor resolution.

The picture of a sleek dark grey Goa'uld bomber sprang into view, slightly grainy in the distance despite computer improvement. It was obvious now, the ship had matched velocities with a smaller object.

"A piece of debris ?" the blonde-framed Tok'ra female ventured a guess.

Her partner peered intently at the display, and the small dark mass dwarfed by the spacecraft's bulk. He got a better view as the object rotated slowly.

"Jolinar, it's a body !"

"Waters of the primordial river, you're right !" She added tentatively. "Is it dead ?"

"If not then I pity this poor Tollan crew, my dear"

Tetrarch Vöhn was seriously considering recording a farewell message as the blue-white disk of Atheros loomed larger and larger in his field of vision. His suit com might not be very powerful in absolute terms but the big arrays on the ships should be able to receive the signal. Even a posthumous last word would be nice for his wife and family, he reasoned.

And then something streaked past his field of vision, something metallic and dagger shaped. He froze instantly. In space, evaluating distance and speed was a difficult task even for Drakensis eyes. He briefly considered shutting down every active system in his suit then decided against it. The thermal signature alone made it impossible to become invisible if the Goa'uld had sniffed him. Besides, he thought with a measure of fatalism, either they shot him and he'd be dead anyway, or they'd attempt to capture him… and then he could turn the tables on them.

"Closer, Jaffa !"

The Ship Prime barked his order in the harsh tones customary to his people, and the pilot nodded sharply, hands moving lightly on the hemispherical controls to apply small course corrections. The powerful vessel obeyed every command smoothly, its engines brimming with restrained power, as it positioned its belly close to the drifting body.

There was a bounty for captured Tollan officers, and their Ship Prime had quickly decided to take it. After all, they prided themselves on maintaining the best sensor watch in the squadron and nobody would highjack what was rightfully their prize. Even the Squadron Prime had to yield before the time-honored tradition and allow the _Red Fist_ to leave formation temporarily. A quick dash at the maximum acceleration allowed by the magic pushing the veteran spacecraft and they were in position to retrieve the blasphemer. Their future captive seemed alive, which promised some fun. Lord Tanith wouldn't mind his brave warriors giving the blasphemer a little lesson in proper worship of the gods.

Their target opened his eyes wide behind his reflective visor as he understood the maneuver. The Al'kesh crew was going to use transport rings to beam him aboard the small utility hold. No doubt they expected him to be a weak, frightened Tollan pussy. Arminius Vöhn bared his teeth in anticipation, his right hand drifted towards the thigh holster of his space-rated Tolgren, feeling the familiar bulk of the oversized handgun just as the ring apparatus silently sprang out of the dark hull. Bright light flashed around him, the weird sensation of disembodied existence and a fraction of a second later the return of gravity as he rematerialized in the middle of the chamber. Fast as a cat, he twisted in mid-fall and managed a controlled landing on three limbs, snapping the gun out of its holster at the same time.

Combat hormones were flooding his system and everything had the crisp clarity of heightened perception. The square chamber, bare except for the omnipresent wall decorations, the smooth floor where the rings had retracted unobtrusively, the door ahead and the two mail-clad Jaffas aiming serpentine zatniktels at him. The two warriors were prepared and pressed the trigger as soon as the Tetrarch came in plain sight, twin lightning-like beams striking the black-suited shape.

Vöhn felt a prickling sensation as the energy crackled over his suit's superconducting mesh shielding and dissipated harmlessly into the floor. Without conscious action, his predatory grin grew wider, as his gun hand moved up with practiced ease. Tritium-covered sights aligned with the rightmost Jaffa's head and the heavy bullet left the barrel immediately later, the report thundering deafeningly between the metal confines. The hand moved fractionally leftwards and a second round followed in the blink of an eye, splattering the second Jaffa's brains on the bulkhead even before the first dead body began to collapse.

The sound of the blasts was still echoing inside the chamber when Vöhn sprang forward through the open doors and found the third crewmember half-turned on his seat, surprise and alarm painted on his features. Before the dumbstruck man could move an inch, the threatening muzzle touched his forehead, right over the ritual tattoo, and an impossibly strong hand closed on his throat in a steel stranglehold.

The surviving Jaffa watched goggle-eyed and a voice came from behind the mirror-like armored visor. It was male, unwavering, and sure of itself, speaking the Tongue of the Gods with a drawl.

"Al'right, worm. Yo' goin' to do as Ah' say and not try an'thing funny… else yo'll join the worthless meat behind, undahstood ?"

xxxxxx

The Jaffa stayed frozen and breathless for a couple of lengthy seconds, trying to make sense of the new situation, and his hijacker thought he could hear the cogs turning inside the pilot's head.

"Lost yo' tongue ?" The grip on his throat tightened minutely and the hot metal tube pressed with more insistance on his skin. "Ah' can fly this bucket if Ah' need to. Make yo' own decision"

Finally, the dumbfounded servant of Tanith swallowed a large lump and answered with a dry tongue, summoning every scrap of defiance he could afford.

"I will die for my god !"

"Wrong answer."

The faceless soldier moved like lightning, his right hand holstering the pistol and grabbing the Jaffa's chin in one smooth reciprocating motion. A sharp push and the head twisted up and aside in a very unnatural way, verified by the _crack_ of snapping vertebrae. Eyes froze and glazed as the dead body slumped like a sack, and Vöhn dragged it out of the pilot's chair before dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. There was one more thing to do. The Draka kneeled and removed the dead warrior's mail tunic, denuding the burly chest and the cross-shaped incision covering the larval pouch. A gloved hand plunged in, probing the wet cavity, found the serpentine shape within and closed over it, proceeding to drag it screaming in outrage out of its protective womb. A second later, the larval Goa'uld fell on the floor next to the dead human, having suffered the same fate.

Wordlessly, Arminius went to the ring chamber, and secured the two bodies there in the same manner, then returned to the pilot seat.

"Okay. Now what ?" the lone soldier asked aloud. His training hadn't included this, for the simple reason that the Domination didn't have anything bigger than a Deathglider to play with before this endeavour. At least the controls did look similar, which was to be expected given that uneducated Jaffas were supposed to fly it.

He spared a moment examining the barely-familiar panel, mentally classifying each item on display. Whatever could be said of the Goa'uld otherwise, at least they created fool-proof hardware with an intuitive man-machine interface. Eventually, he had to move lest the dead crew's comrades became suspicious. Tentatively, he placed his hands on the twin red hemispheres, having removed his space gloves, and felt the hardware answering to his cautious inputs. With careful and deliberate moves, he plotted a course back to the Al'kesh formation, his mind racing to consider the best ulterior moves.

"Well they took their time"

The brunette Tok'ra identified as Jolinar of Malk'shur nodded with a moue.

"Poor guy must have had a Sokar-style welcome."

"With luck, they won't have time to transfer him and he'll die cleanly in the upcoming fight."

"Hmm. It does seem like the Tollans have gained the upper hand so far. Of course if even a single Ha'tak was here…"

"All of Tanith's motherships are busy on Nautona. He'd have to spare more than one anyway, with the defenses here weakened so much"

"Which is probably just what the Tollans want."

The Jaffa Squadron Prime let an impatient sigh as the _Red Fist_ eventually moved back in position. He considered berating the crew then shrugged. What good would it achieve ? They'd simply gloat at him. Ah well, maybe the coming battle would offer him the opportunity to make prisoners too. Then he could trade Lord Tanith's favor for the hand of the cute little redhead at his court, provided nobody had taken her yet.

The Tollans were coming close to engagement distance, but the tactical situation wasn't looking too good. Most of the unmanned killsats were out of commission, and without those to lay down heavy fire support attacking the blasphemer's fleet would be costly, even suicidal. But as long as they could inflict some damage, maybe destroy a few more warships, then his warriors and himself wouldn't die in vain.

Still, another voice spoke differently in his head. He was tempted to dismiss it as the voice of cowardice, but it had a point : dying for no appreciable gain wasn't the best way to serve his god. Maybe they should retreat and then join forces with the inevitable counterattack.

His reflexion was cut short by the sound of the ring transport system activating in the compartment behind. Alas, he didn't react quickly enough, although to his defense he had no reason to fear anything. After Kopros had locked the palace's systems, nobody could ring out from there, and the Al'kesh units were configured to accept incoming streams from other squadron spacecraft only, precisely to prevent hostile boardings. Therefore, whoever was coming for a visit had to be one of his subordinates… right ?

As it turned out in the next seconds, he was wrong. Tetrarch Vöhn's pistol barked thrice in rapid succession, adding three more bodies to his personal tally this day. He chuckled quietly as he reviewed the scene. His little plan was working so far. Sparing a contemptuous thought for his adversaries deadly complacence, he stepped back in the transport room and set the ring controls to his next destination.

"And here come the Gliders" Subcommander Anthim announced quietly, although technically, his statement was superfluous. Everyone could see the shifting icons on the tactical plot, finally coming out of their relative immobility to launch themselves at the Tollan fleet now crossing geostationary altitude.

"Yes" the pleasant-looking Draka liaison officer cocked her head, squinting at the holoplot. "But why aren't the bigger ones following ?"

Indeed the near-hundred fighters were leaving the dozen bombers behind as they raced forward. The maneuver was puzzling and didn't make sense : for maximum effectiveness they should strike in concert. Why were the Al'kesh staying immobile ?

Then the fighter shoal started to waver and hesitate, as if unsure whether to continue or not.

"Just what is happening ? It looks like they don't know what to do !" Ship Commander Olmoc shared his own puzzlement.

"Sir ! Incoming transmission request… from one of the Goa'uld strikeships !"

Heads whipped towards the Communications officer who had just spoken.

"Accept it !" Olmoc's order came instantly. He didn't expect a surrender from the Jaffas, but he was willing to listen even if it came down to the usual "Bow to your gods, or else !".

An instant later, a communication window sprang into existence on the bridge, and while the gold-plated background looked familiar enough, the man looking at the camera wasn't the expected tattoed warrior.

"Hello Gwen !" the grinning man saluted as if this was a routine social call.

Ingolfsson's self-control momentarily slipped and her eyes widened in total surprise, imitated by the Tollan officers nearby.

"Arminius ?" was all she managed to say. Her fellow Draka waved at her, then his face grew more business-like.

"Myself. Listen, I've disabled the bombers" he raised a hand to stall the coming questions "but you better get rid of the fighters before they get any smart ideas"

He was pleased to see that his interlocutors on the cruiser's bridge were quick to react. The Tollan commander immediately ordered the nimbler gunships to leave their screening positions and go for the Goa'uld small crafts. The move seemed to crystallize the enemy mind and the Gliders resumed their advance, unable to resist the draw of combat.

Inside the cloaked Tel'tak, the pair of Tok'ra operatives had their attention divided between the sensor picture, clinical and synthetic, and the cockpit's front window. Not that the latter showed much, at this distance the melee between the small Goa'uld fighters and the larger heavier Tollan gunships was resolved as small pinpricks of light, bright plasma flashing across and short-lived stars heralding a small ship's destruction.

The largest Tollan warships were barely discernible on the right thanks to the starlight reflecting on their white hulls, like very faint dustmotes drifting on a jet-black tapestry slowly creeping leftwards in the field of vision. On the other side hung the planet, its dark side currently facing the battle taking place in orbit, and small blazing trails signaled larger pieces of debris burning through uncontrolled reentry into the atmosphere. Some of those had to be quite large given the signature they created.

"Look at this big fragment !" Martouf pointed at a zoomed-in picture. A whole blocky piece of starship was tumbling as it fell through Atheros' upper atmosphere, shedding sparks and smaller debris and surrounded by flames. The spy ship's improved sensors showed a wireframe schematic of the meteor and the multiple decks it contained, inside which blue dots winked out one after another.

"There are still living crewmen inside" Jolinar added with a mix of fascination and repulsion. The sensors' clinical picture betrayed nothing, in its machine-like detachment, of the actual horror happening before their eyes. People were being smashed against bulkheads as dead gravitic plating didn't protect them from their tomb's brutally erratic movements anymore, or sucked out as hull plating was ripped off by the overwhelming storm of reentry only to be incinerated by friction-heated plasma.

"Correction" Martouf shook his head as the last lifesign winked out "they were already dead".

"So many victims" his partner exhaled quietly and grasped his arm in sympathy. Although a veteran of the struggle against the System Lords, she had not grown insensitive yet even after all the deaths and suffering she had witnessed. Her male colleague spared her a comforting smile and returned a squeeze of his own on her thigh.

"As long as the System Lords exist, there will be war and destruction. But one day a new order will rise, trust me"

"I wish… our race has been fighting them for so long and sometimes it looks like we've accomplished little" Jolinar allowed some of her self-doubt aloud. "Millenia of struggle and the Goa'uld are still dominating the galaxy"

"I know what you mean" Martouf replied, _every one of us feels the same sometimes,_ he kept unspoken "yet we have managed to prevent the creation of a stronger, dominant empire so far, ever since Ra retired. Anubis won't be different, even with his new tricks" he finished with a dash of contempt. "Provided the right incentives and information," _which we so obligingly provide,_ "the other System Lords can hold him off."

Something was wrong.

"Martouf, those Al'kesh haven't moved ! Why are they staying out of the fight ? What can they possibly expect ?"

"Whatever, without fighter cover they'll last about the same as a comet plunging straight into a star" The male Tok'ra fiddled with the sensor settings for a moment and let out a hiss of frustration. "Can't scan them while they're shielded. Could they be booby-trapped ?"

"It doesn't make sense" Jolinar answered with a puzzled face.

Minutes ticked away quietly. The fight was over for now, the Deathgliders all turned into inert drifting matter and the satellite defenses throroughly smashed. Not that the Tollan fleet came out unharmed. Six destroyers were gone, vanished in deadly explosions or utterly gutted and broken, several more were struggling to stay in position and venting atmosphere from numerous hull breaches, while a cruiser limped behind having lost a quarter of its mass, the tell-tale bright thermal spots on its blackened hull betraying internal flash-fires that had burned through decks before they were extinguished.

The gunships had fared better, probably thanks to their superior agility and the lack of opponents more dangerous than fightercrafts, and the intact ones attached towlines on their damaged brethren to pull them out of the planet's gravitational attraction. And as the Tok'ra watched, twelve of the sleek conical vessels accelerated towards the motionless Goa'uld bombers on meeting vectors, taking no more than three minutes to cross the short distance and decelerate to a relative stop.

Then one of the bombers' shield went down, raising a notice chime in the spy Tel'tak's cabin, where its crew watched the events with incredulity as the corresponding gunship shot a towline that connected with the fat spearhead-shaped spacecraft.

"They're towing it !"

Another chime, different, as the Tel'tak's sensors focused on the smaller sector of space where the maneuvers were taking place.

"Transport ring activation !"

A short moment later the shield of the next Al'kesh flickered out as well and the same scenario unfolded. Nobody said a word until the process reached the middle of the bomber formation. Then a stunned Martouf shared his tentative conclusion with an equally flabbergasted Jolinar.

"The captive… he must have hijacked those ships somehow"

"That's impossible !" Jolinar's retort was heart-felt. The notion that a single man, or woman, could overpower not one, but twelve Jaffa crews was preposterous. "It would have to be a Kull Warrior ! And even then someone should have raised an alarm halfway through !" Left unsaid was _no way a simple human could do that !_

"Wait, with the shield down there's a sensor reading coming through…"

One life sign.

"I guess you're right" Jolinar half-whispered, half-muttered as Martouf shook his head repeatedly. "And the lifesigns are… weird, as if muffled by interference"

"Might be the spacesuit, it is probably shielded. We could go active…"

"No !" the brunette's counter was fierce. "They might detect us and the hyperdrive's cold !" The Tollans were likely to shoot first and ask questions later in the current situation, and regardless having to answer their questions would be embarrassing to say the least.

"The council will decide our follow-up actions. I have a feeling they'll be interested in those mysterious new allies of the Tollan Empire. In the meantime, we sit back and observe, nothing more."

**Atheros, Groundside**

"Well, it was only a delay"

Polignac ducked hastily under the withering fire laid down by the trio of Kull Warriors advancing on the plaza and muttered a curse as stone fragments rained down on his back. Leading from the front was the Draka custom and it did have exciting moments indeed. A smoke trail flickered into existence as a hypervelocity rocket streaked towards the rightmost Kull and hit it square in the chest, sending him flying backwards, flailing its limbs comically and crashing in an overturned cart. As it shook itself out of its stunned state, his brethren poured suppressive fire at the window where the offending projectile came from. The Draka gunner was already gone, fortunately, as concentrated plasma bursts ravaged the room and set fire to the stacks of papyrus and writing desks previously used by the city's scribes. The incoming fire abated as smoke started to billow out of the ruined window and the black warriors focused their wrath on other quadrants, preventing the steadily retreating Draka troops from lingering in the same position for longer than a few seconds.

The Jaffas were wisely taking advantage of this to advance from cover to cover, laying down a plasma blanket of their own. This combined arms tactic was proving more effective, Anton thought, although the Goa'uld troops were starting from an admittedly very low level of tactical proficiency and their progress was still slow against the disciplined Domination soldiers. Friendly casualties were staying low after the initial shock. But those damn Kulls needed to be neutralized quickly. Their ability to soak up punishing firepower was impressive but it did seem to have a limit. If a man-portable anti-armor rocket wasn't enough, then by Thor's balls a tank ought to do the trick. And the wide open ground of the municipal square was just the right place.

There was a lull in the din of battle as Draka fire abated, luring their opponents into thinking they could advance again. Two files of Jaffas jogged half-crouched past the houses, firing brilliant bolts through each and every aperture be it a window, a door or a hole in the abused walls, even when thick smoke and roaring flame streaming out indicated that nobody could possibly be hiding inside a burning room.

The three Kull Warriors strode forward at their customary leisurely pace, heads swivelling to check every sector through artificially enhanced vision, but the scattered fires and the Draka armor's thermal camouflage prevented them from spotting the elusive enemies easily. Most of the time the first detection was due to incoming weapon fire whose origin was pinpointed on the creatures' helmet display.

They were more or less in the middle of the open ground when the Merarch sprang the trap. One of the Honds surged out of a back street with all the power of its integral electric drive, its turret swivelling towards the black-carapaced warriors as soon as the long gun was clear of obstruction even as the low hull pivoted on its tracks to align itself along the threat axis. The main gun roared once, the blast's sheer overpressure flattening the various smoke pillars dotting the arena. Travel time was instantaneous and the heavy density-augmented tungsten dart struck the middle Kull right on the chest. The mighty armor which had resisted everything so far finally met its match, its system failing to absorb the incredibly brutal inertial spike and the shockwave of the impact blossomed inside the suit, turning the flesh inside into a mushy mixture even as it was catapulted backwards at near-supersonic speed. The spawn of Anubis' laboratories was killed instantly, and the dense metal spike coring the tough chest-plate was just icing on the cake.

Even as the dead warrior crashed into a wall like an irregular artillery round, bringing down the rest of the already damaged house on top of itself in a great fracas of collapsing wood and brick and an expanding cloud of dust and smoke, Citizen and Ghouloon soldiers peeked out of their hiding places to take pot-shots at the uncovered Jaffas while the two remaining Kulls struggled to react against the new threat. Four wrist-blasters extended in the same aiming direction and went to full power on the rushing tank. Four streams of high-energy plasma impacted on the glacis, gouging deep glowing craters and furrows in the thick refractory plating, and on the turret front, where it had more effect mainly due to the sheer firing rate of the Kull armament. Droplets of molten metal spurted away like small fountains , stripping the great machine of its protective carapace, and found the vulnerable spots, blasting open sensor heads and weapon ports. A stray bolt lucked out, plunging into the ETC gun's muzzle just as it underwent the reloading process, and ignited the liquid reactants before the injection nozzles could close.

The premature detonation crippled and jammed the gun, but it didn't matter any more. The flaming hulk of a tank lurched forward on sheer inertia even as the shower of plasma found its way through abused armor and charred the crew inside their fighting compartment. The veteran Kull reacted with battle-honed reflexes, diving out of the way, but the other one stood frozen in place for an instant too long. Sixty tons of tortured metal collided with the standing creature and flung it backwards helplessly, but not out of the way. The dazed and stunned Kull didn't have the time to raise its head before the reinforced composite track caught up with its prone form and crushed it under its mass with the last expended forward momentum. Anubis' prime scientist and weapon designer, Lord Thoth, had envisioned many threats and proofed its creation against those, but the equivalent of an industrial-strength press wasn't among them. Joints creaked and sagged under the pressure, plates flexed inwards ever so subtly. The Goa'uld minion was pinned under the crushing weight, still alive but unable to breath. His splayed limbs shuddered a few times, each feebler than the former, then went still. Above the agonizing warrior the Hond went through its own death throes as internal fires unchecked by the destroyed fire suppression system reached the ammunition and propellant supply through compromised bulkheads, and the turret erupted like a man-made volcano. Red-hot debris and liquid flame sprayed outwards, starting even more fires in the adjoining buildings as a black mushroom-shaped column of smoke rose skywards from the pyre.

The veteran Kull tried to make sense of the sudden destruction, skittering away on all fours as secondary explosions boomed from the destroyed war machine. A hail of steel was skewering the Jaffas caught in the open and the survivors were running away to safety, wherever that was, forgetting all notion of ordered fire and maneuver. A shard of rage birthed inside the engineered warrior's mind, born from the loss of its brothers and the shameful panic displayed by its supporting infantry. The shard blossomed and filled its mind, whiting out any superior purpose other than _**KILL MAIM BURN DESTROY !**_ inside the jet-black helmet and the Kull unleashed the full fury of its weapons regardless of the power strain.

Twin blue streams of death hosed the periphery of the civic square, more houses collapsed in flame and sooty smoke as their structural members were ruptured, more enemies were injured and killed as they tried to approach but the warrior didn't care, it just wanted to kill and destroy everything that stood around, everyone that defied the will of the gods and his own might.

Its berserk rage faced its nemesis in the single-purpose discipline of the ghouloon minds disregarding all thought of self-preservation to close with the lone enemy and overpower it. The big warbeasts converged from both sides like a metal-clad tide, falling as plasma bolts shattered limbs and burst open heads in great showers of bloody gore but more came, mustered from Polignac's reserves just for this moment, and inexorably closed the ring around the hissing Kull. Alone, even its high rate of fire couldn't neutralize the running ghouloon shock troopers quickly enough and finally the living noose closed upon it. Oversized gauntleted fists punched hard like industrial pistons, beating the warrior out of aim and vice-like hands clamped around its limbs, their collective strength easily overwhelming the Kull's augmented physiology into submission. As it was held in place, struggling inside its bonds with all its might but helpless to shake the collective grip, its weapons all but useless now, the Merarch walked triumphantly towards the group of abhuman warriors, captors and captive alike. Other Draka soldiers streamed past to secure the square, now wreathed in flames, and retake lost positions after the fleeing Jaffas.

Anton stopped one pace before the restrained captive and cocked his head in a mixture of curiosity, pride and martial glee. For a moment the two stood facing each other as the Kull's struggle faded in recognition of temporary defeat. They stared from under closed helmets, faceless mask against blank visor in a silent meeting of wills, then the Draka spoke conversationally.

"Well, yo' were a harder customer than those cowardly Jaffas, I'll give yo' that"

Silence answered for a lingering second, then the Kull replied emotionlessly, its rage drained away as the fight was over. For now, it thought.

"You are not Tollan. Who are you ?"

"Ah, yo're a inquisitive mind, ain't yo' ?" Anton grinned under his mask. "Just know that my people one day will rule this galaxy" he finished fiercely "over the grave of your Goa'uld masters !"

An angry hiss welcomed his statement, followed by a seething retort from the distorted deep voice.

"My master, Lord Anubis, will find who you are and burn your world to the last living soul ! Nobody goes against the will of Lord Anubis !"

"See, this is where you're wrong" Anton's voice was pleasant and smiling. He made a cutting sign with his hand and the ghouloon standing behind the black armored creature gleefully sprang into motion. Enormous hands closed on both sides of the Kull's head and twisted violently. Host neck and symbiote's spine snapped together and the carapaced body slumped bonelessly between the restraining arms.

The Draka commander spared a last glance at the dead enemy and the surrounding scene of destruction.

"All right. You" he addressed the ghouloons "Bring this thing to the palace with the rest of the Goa'uld artefacts, and make fast"

The troopers saluted and leapt into motion, two of them carrying the dead weight while the rest jogged around in escort formation.

Another house collapsed nearby. The heat was starting to become unbearable inside the plaza and the blazes were getting out of control even with the lack of wind. Sooner or later the invasion force would have to make a decision.

Walking forward at a brisk pace, Anton spared a glance at the obscured sky. In the end, the decision would come from above, he felt.

**Atheros Orbitals**

**Task Force Avenger**

They'd done it. The Tollan fleet had broken through the Goa'uld defences and gained orbital dominance, albeit at a heavy price. No vessel was undamaged to some degree, and thousands of crewmen were dead or missing, a tally that was still being adjusted as escape pods were retrieved, crippled ships were towed into stable orbits and emergency teams docked up to render assistance, and isolated compartments were patched up and restored to atmosphere. Emergency forcefields and pressurized safety closets accounted for many survivors, but after Tetrarch Vöhn's incredible adventure most ship commanders were hegding their bets that the Navy Board would seriously consider implementing personal vacuum suits for everyone.

The fleet was currently holding station in loose geostationary orbit so as to minimize the energy expended by station-keeping drives, the most damaged units tucked inside the shell provided by their more functional brethren. Surviving Goa'uld satellites regularly came over the horizon only to be blasted out of the sky by the vigilant destroyers and the gunships sweeping around the planet's curvature.

A different kind of activity was taking place inside the hangars of selected Tollan vessels, where the captured Al'kesh bombers had been tractored in and set firmly inside the grip of the docking clamps. As soon as they were secured, atmospheric forcefields went up and the bays were pressurized to facilitate inspection by Tollan personnel and Draka liaison officers. Two of the strike crafts were sitting inside _Majestic_'s main shuttle bay, and Vöhn was greeted by a welcome committe consisting of his blonde-dyed Space Force colleague and several excited Tollan technicians.

"Freya's tits, Armie," Ingolfsson's forearm clasped his with vigour, her face beaming at him "you really did capture a dozen hypercapable Goa'uld spacecraft ! Everyone's already planning how to use them in the counter-offensive on Nautona !"

Vöhn simply grinned beatifically for a handful of seconds, then glanced backwards at the dark-hulled bomber he had just landed, and returned his attention forward, detailing the rapt-looking Tollan men and women. Especially the women.

"Bah, piece of cake" he replied lightly. "Those Jaffas never had the time to understand what was happening."

**Satria Outskirts, Nautona**

**Near the stargate**

The being known as Tanith seethed with rage, standing on the grass field under the frightened gaze of his honour guard, the warriors carefully staying at shouting distance of their fuming master and the sprawled inert forms of their former comrades scattered about. Their fate was arguably deserved : they had fled before the enemy, run to the Chappai's apparent safety instead of dying for their god.

Upon hearing their tale, Tanith had not been pleased, not at all, and his wrath focused through the magical hand jewel had brought the cowards to painful deaths. Their bodies would remain there to slowly rot, a warning against weakness and failure.

Low murmurs fluttered through the rearmost ranks. The apparent demise of a full Jaffa legion supported by no less than three Kull Warriors was stupefying. In fact, it seemed impossible. The Kulls were invincible, imbued with the very magical essence of the gods, weren't they ? And that Jaffa legion had been cut of the finest cloth, veterans of decades, centuries of fighting in some cases.

Suddenly every sound was silenced by the loud dull clangs of the chevrons locking for an incoming wormhole. Every pair of eyes watched the fountain-like gush and the subsequent blue surface appear, and staff weapons dropped in firing position ready to shoot anything hostile coming through the Chappai.

The expected assault didn't come, but every Jaffa flinched and ducked reflexively as three round shapes sailed through, one after another, completed their ballistic flight and rolled to a stop on the trampled grass in front of the metal ring. As the last one stopped moving, the wormhole flared into oblivion.

Tanith was the first to unfreeze and the closest to the objects, therefore he was the first to recognize what they were. He was also the only one present who actually could recognize them, for there laid the three decapitated heads of the Kull Warriors, sickly greenish translucent skin and barely-humanoid face. The cut was extremely neat, as if done by a very sharp blade, the symbiote's foreign body sliced as well where it attached to the spinal column.

The Goa'uld stared in the closest head's glazed vacant eyes, utterly unmoving, then bent slightly to get a better view. There was something inside the half-open mouth… Tanith stooped and pryed the disgusting translucent lips open. There was a slight resistance, like a wire snapping suddenly. His eyes grew wide in realization, and the grenade exploded as the Goa'uld lord instinctly stepped back. Blast pressure and small shrapnel briefly battered his personal shield, an unpleasant but harmless experience for him, although the grass was a little more singed and traumatized and the disembodied head vanished into scattered fleshy lumps.

The distant Jaffas froze even stiller, sensing the mounting rage emanating from their lord. Tanith's eyes bulged and flashed, his fists closed at his sides then rose to chest level in a posture of barely restrained wrath.

"**AAAAAAAAGH !**"

The unnatural low-pitched scream tore through the silent field and the Jaffas all flinched to a man. Their god being so angry was never a good omen.

**Atheros System**

**Tanith's Dominion**

The subspace transmission instantly crossed the light-years separating Tolla from Atheros, where it was picked up by the FTL communication array on ITN Majestic, descrambled and piped through the system to the relevant bridge station.

"Commander ! We have received a dispatch from Navy Central, Command Priority"

Ship Commander Anthim heard the duty officer's announcement through his headset and raised his head from his inspection of a damaged shield generator. His cruiser had taken a pounding in the battle, and while there was no serious damage to the hull itself the strain on the protective forcefield had bled through. Shield generators were sturdy and overengineered, but the barrel-sized metallic cylinder showed the tell-tale discoloration of control crystals and blackened transfer coils indicating cumulative damage. Fortunately, it was also designed to be easily replaceable. Crew technicians were busy disconnecting power leads and data cables and removing the numerous fasteners keeping the device firmly attached to the exterior hull's framework. Normally, this compartment was uncrewed and unpressurized, inhabited only by power conduits, sensor threads and maintenance bots, but the section containing the damaged shield generator was currently sealed by containment fields for the crewmens' comfort. There was a gaping maintenance hatch close-by, enabling passage between inner and outer hulls, and Anthim headed towards it. A Command Priority message had to be viewed on a full-fledged display console connected to the ship's Core Datanet, and the closest one was located in the dorsal engineering bay.

Climbing down the meter-thick hatch space the Tollan officer managed the transition between the angled gravity fields flawlessly, hopping onto the wall that was actually the floor according to the main deck layout, and followed the low-lit maintenance crawlspace to another steep stair case leading to the uppermost main deck, back into the commonly travelled areas of the cruiser. Bare metal-composite walls, uncovered tubing and cable bundles gave way to the brightly-lit, white-painted corridors favored by the Tollan Navy where the various wires and conduits were hidden behind easily removed panels.

A service lift brought him two decks below, and from there it was a short minute walk to the dorsal engineering bay.

Three decks high and four longitudinal subdivisions long the bay was a large chamber devoted to various pieces of machinery, among which Auxiliary Heat Exchanger One, an horizontal cylinder four meters high and twelve meters long. Silver-wrapped industrial-sized piping brought hot coolant gas to the naquadah-based subspace heat dumps before recirculating the colder fluid. The setup was duplicated in the ventral engineering bay, the whole system interconnected for redundancy.

The space not occupied by the heat exchanger was taken by various recycling modules and fabricators. In case of an emergency, the bay could manufacture replacement parts for any ship systems, and the Core Datanet console standing in the glazed control booth where the Duty Engineer normally monitored things could allow access and control over any of the ship's system, if a command-level officer was physically present and if the Bridge was unresponding (that is, damaged or destroyed).

Such control was currently unneeded, and Anthim merely used the console to view the message from Navy Central.

It was actually short, when he got past the long and complicated routing and security headers.

_Goa'uld fleet departing Nautona. Confirmed by multiple independent observers on the ground and monitoring space assets. Six out of ten Ha'taks hypered out at 1823 Standard. Estimated time of arrival over Atheros : 2135 according to known Ha'tak performance._

_TA Avenger is strongly advised to start retreating from Atheros space upon reception of this message. Detailed Goa'uld force disposition on Nautona follows._

Anthim drew a deep breath. Tanith had taken the bait. Six Ha'taks were a force that his fleet couldn't hold, not after the damage already received, but he didn't have to. The Goa'uld motherships were committed once in hyperspace, but it left a short three hours window to act.

**Atheros System**

**Three Hours Later**

"Jaffa ! Report !"

Tanith wasted no time asking for answers once his six-Ha'tak strong fleet exited hyperspace. The besieged planet was visible ahead, a small coin-sized blue-white disk in the distance, and there was apparently no sign of the Tollan invaders. On the other hand there were plenty of signs indicating a battle had happened recently. There were debris fields drifting away in space or orbiting the planet, and sensors also showed the near-constant drizzle of meteors streaking through the atmosphere's upper layers as unstable pieces of wreckage found themselves inexorably swallowed by Atheros' gravity field.

"My Lord, I can't raise the orbital defences other than a handful of automated fighting platforms. There appears to be an expanding field of destroyed Deathgliders as well… and I can't raise anyone groundside either"

The Jaffa Prime unconsciously tried to imitate a turtle pulling its head into its armored shell as he rattled off the report. His god was in a foul mood. He had spent the whole voyage locked inside his quarters with a selection of slaves, and according to the guards stationed outwards the leather inner doors, Tanith had spent most of that time whipping and generally abusing some of his house slaves, whether they appeared to deserve it or not. Of course, if Lord Tanith decided in his divine wisdom that they were deserving of punishment, then they deserved it. And as far as the warriors were concerned, better their Lord spend his divine anger on a few pissant slaves than upon their own hides.

Every Jaffa on the Pel'tak tried not to wince visibly as Tanith's hand flexed convulsively to underline the flash of fury lighting his eyes. Thankfully, whipping the girls must have somewhat drained his pent-up rage, for he didn't kill anybody. Instead he took a deep breath, flashed his eyes again and rose from his throne.

"Where are the Tollans !"

"My Lord, the Chappai is active, but I can't detect any Tollan ship in the vicinity of the planet"

"Use maximum power on the sensors !" If those impudent humans were trying to lie in ambush then he wouldn't give them the pleasure of cooperating.

The Jaffa's next words proved him right.

"My Lord ! Here they are !"

The holodisplay opened in front of the Pel'tak's viewport, showing the location of the Tollan fleet. But they were far away and apparently speeding out of the system, probably running for the invisible line where their inferior hyperdrives could activate. Taith studied the numbers running through the display himself and spat on the floor with contempt.

"Cowards !"

A rumble of assent echoed around the bridge, his underlings gratefully seizing the opportunity to emulate their master's mindset.

"Look, Jaffas ! The blasphemers' ships all appear damaged to a degree. Your brother warriors have fought valiantly in defence of this world. I will personally ensure that their afterlife is full of wine and women !"

A rising cheer greeted that statement, only cut by Tanith's next words.

"Faithful warriors ! There are still blasphemers on the planet, soiling its sacred soil ! Destroy them in combat and your reward will be first pick of Tollans slaves !"

"KREEEEE !"

The versatile Jaffa exclamation manifested their enthusiasm to fight for their god. And loot.

"Then we'll return and burn their remaining cities to cinders !"

"KREEEEE !"

Nothing like pillage and burn to properly motivate Jaffas, Tanith reflected. Such simple minds, so easily controlled and manipulated. As to the Tollan fleet, there was no point trying to intercept it. Sure, his own Ha'taks could do a pinpoint hyperspace jump to their location, but the enemy ships were running at high realspace velocities. They would simply streak through his own formation at impossible speeds. A meaningful engagement couldn't happen without building a matching vector and by that time they'd be over their hyperlimit.

Well, he consoled himself, it was but a respite. They would be destroyed later.

In the meantime, his six vessels moved across space littered by drifting wreckage (which still didn't amount to much obstruction, given the sheer volume involved) towards the orbit of Atheros. And already assault Tel'taks and supporting Gliders streamed out of the hangar bays to deliver the counterattack.

The enemy force had to be strong. They were able to kill the three Kull Warriors after all. But without orbital support they were doomed to succumb under the wave of Jaffas.

First the Chappai would be brought under control, to cut off exit. Then the whole planet would be combed and any Tollan trespasser would die a painful death. That thought brought a smile on Tanith's face.

xxxxxx

Rothan felt elated as usual flying his metal steed through the void where no being could survive without the protective magic of the gods. The rest of his flight followed in loose echelon formation behind his own fighter, ready to take on the blasphemers who had dared invade a sanctified world. He glanced aside and suppressed a hint of regret at the bare right wing. Although the harpooned Tollan woman had made a great impression among his Jaffa brethren, and even gained him a commendation from the mothership's Flight Lord for skillful flying, the decaying body had started to stink not long afterwards and he had been forced to get rid of it. The dead woman was dumped from the nearest airlock.

But it was all right. Soon Rothan would earn live Tollan slaves, which would be even better.

Scattered among the nimble Gliders were the Tel'taks transporting sections of Jaffas. With support from their flying comrades, they were to retake the Chappai and then mop up enemy warriors in the city.

As the spacecraft swooped lower and emerged from the cloud base Rothan got his first view of Atheros City. Tall pillars of black smoke rose from the fires visible even from there, engulfing entire blocks. The Jaffa pilot ground his teeth. He had friends down there, who were perhaps dead or trapped in burning buildings. The Tollans would pay for this !

In the meantime, the tactical view showed new orders for the transports. Some of them wouldn't return to the Ha'taks after dropping their troop load, instead they would start scooping water from the river to be dropped on the raging fires, thus preventing their spread and protecting the rest of the capital from the flames.

As he dropped even lower and slower Rothan started to make out details. Oddly there didn't seem to be any activity. As far as he could see the streets were empty. Nothing moved… until the lead transports came in range of the man-portable missiles tracking them from the top steps of the stargate pyramid. The Drakas never intended to contest the terrain, but they did intend to leave a lasting impression, and the incoming Jaffas shouldn't be left with the feeling that it was too easy.

Eight of the specially-modified rockets streaked upwards, each one locked on a troop-laden Tel'Tak. Initially designed to counter Alliance supersonic fighter-bombers and armored gunships at low and medium altitude, they went hypersonic a fraction of a second after their launch and crossed the dozen kilometers before the pilots even realized they were under attack.

The missiles' standard warhead was no threat to a shielded Goa'uld transport. Hence why it was replaced by a naquadah-enhanced one.

Eight fireballs blossomed in the darkened sky, lighting clouds and smoke with orange tones. The kiloton-yield charges not only vaporized their targets, every Deathglider in the vicinity was blasted off the sky, the closest ones simply vanishing, the ones further away suffering damage proportional to their distance from the detonations. Dozens of the small flyers were crippled and fell to the ground trailing fire and smoke before digging new craters and adding their share of destruction upon the city and its countryside.

Rothan fought the violent buffeting as the shockwave caught up with his own fighter. Fortunately, he was outside the lethal radius and managed to retain control, helped by the automated flight governor. Below him, the pressure fronts swept the ground, briefly dispersing the smoke and dust and shattering windows. The pyramid was straight ahead, and his keen eyes glimpsed miniature black figures running inside the gaping elevated entrance. His fingers tightened on the firing studs, more a gesture of defiance, he later told himself. The short burst of plasma only damaged the stoneworks further, and then the fighter overflew the tall structure. There was no more movement downside, but Rothan turned lazily overhead, peering down into the deserted streets and avenues.

There were some new additions, it seemed, but their nature was barely recognizable in the poor light.

There was nothing else to do but orbit overhead as the surviving Tel'taks set down all around the place, hovering over the pavement to let the transport rings disgorge their Jaffa contingent.

One of those disembarked at the foot of the majestic stairs. The sheer shock of the welcoming sight affected everyone, even the transport pilot, who reached for a handy leather bag and vomited into it.

The more seasoned warriors merely stood slack-jawed and goggle-eyed as the view registered on their retinas. Starting at the foot of the pyramid and going down all the way to the city council square was a grotesque display of dead and tortured flesh.

Two man-sized, neatly stacked symmetrical pyramids stood at the base of the larger one like perverse imitations. But those weren't made of shaped stone. They were made of row upon row of decapitated Jaffa heads, artistically disposed so that each faced outwards and showed a rictus of death. Those heads were naturally the most intact ones - the damaged pieces had ended up as filling inside the peculiar constructions. The final and perhaps most terrible insult were the owner's torn flaccid cock thrust into every dead mouth.

The effect was even worse as every live Jaffa could recognize former friends, brothers and relatives in the heap. Death in battle wasn't something they shied of, on the contrary, but this… this gruesome exhibition was more than that, it was an explicit declaration and every witness understood its meaning. Whoever had done it took pleasure in showing off their grisly work. It was a declaration of war. It was a personal statement. _This is what awaits you if you oppose us._

And it was but the appetizer. All around the pyramid's base stood rows of stakes bearing denuded bodies, Jaffa bodies, all missing their heads. Tanith's soldiers, slowly advancing among the scene of desolation, gazed at each tortured corpse. No word was pronounced. At least it appeared, from the plainly visible wounds present on every carcass, that the unfortunate men were already dead when they were thrust on sharpened rods and castrated.

While the place where the stakes entered was clear (bringing many grimaces of disgust to the watching men) they didn't emerge from the gaping neck wounds. There was something else protruding from those, the broken remains of the Jaffas' symbiotes sticking out like parodies of man-Goa'uld chimeras.

The leaving Drakas didn't have enough time to stage more elaborate displays, but those were already striking deep in Tanith's warriors. Flaring rage, appaled disgust, and a strong undercurrent of fear hid behind the silent vows of revenge.

More troops made their way to the ground as the first wave spread itself along the empty streets. Empty, that is, save for the fresh signs of death. Blood pooling in the middle runnels, guts and pieces of flesh scattered from place to place, bodies nailed to doors, those merciful few and far between. They were booby-trapped too, as the first Jaffas to try unpinning one found out to their own demise. After the first explosion killed four of their number, the rest stayed well clear of the next ones.

And it wasn't only the dead that were hiding lethal traps. Every door, every clump of debris could be setup as an explosive surprise. Not many died because of them, as the warriors quickly learnt to leave anything remotely suspicious alone, but it would make the securing of the city so much slower. The worst were the monofilament wiretraps set across streets and doorways at head and neck height, or deviously arranged near more obvious set-ups. More than once a self-congratulating Jaffa avoided what he assumed was a hidden improvised explosive device only to tangle himself in the wickedly sharp wire. Panic did the rest and the unfortunate subject sliced himself to pieces trying to escape the near-invisible scalpels.

And there wasn't a single damn living soul. It was as if the proud city had been emptied of its inhabitants - which was indeed the case. A significant fraction, several thousands had managed to escape into the countryside. About a fifth were dead, collateral damage from all the fighting. The rest was on Abydos, being processed by the efficient Draka machine into a slave system more ruthless and sophisticated than anything their Goa'uld masters had shown.

The streets also showed the clear signs of pillaging - shattered doors, spilled goods too worthless to be taken, poured fluids from broken containers. The famous workshops were opened and empty. Luxury leathers, fabrics, gem-encrusted jewellery, crystalware, wine and spirits - all the pricey wares Atheros was known for among Tanith's empire had attracted the raiders' keen eye. What was left were broken tools in abandoned, ransacked workshops, and plundered warehouses.

Maybe, in time, the capital city would flourish again. In any case, it was still the place where passage to other worlds could be made, an obligatory nexus for travelling merchants and interstellar traders. Caravans and sea-going ships from the rest of the planet would still converge here laden with much sought-after goods. But it would take years, generations likely, for the City to regain its former splendor, because its beating heart, its richest and most productive denizens, had been ripped out this fateful day.

Inside the flagship _Merciless_ hovering far above the abused city, the incoming reports from the Jaffa commanders on the ground brought a filtered, sanitized vision of the left-over carnage. Despite this the mood was rather subdued, the initial elation at retaking the planet quickly displaced by the sudden bag of tricks unleashed by the retreating invaders.

Tanith himself sat still and silent on his throne. At last the thing he was waiting for happened. The ornate doors of the Pel'tak opened sideways with their customary lack of noise, and Kopros entered, escorted by a pair of warriors.

The Goa'uld underling bowed down before the raised throne, stooping even lower than usual and trying his best to hide his anxiety. His overlord could very well decide to kill him on the spot, and if that was the case there was nothing he could do. Well he could have remained on the planet… cowering in a dusty temple until he was caught, and then for sure death would have been the final outcome.

Besides, the fact that he had been kept out of the military side of things was his best defence. He wasn't responsible for this… well, defeat after all. And the Jaffa commander was dead already.

"Kopros" his master pronounced his name rather dispassionately, something the governor wasn't entirely sure was a good sign or not, "I wanted to speak to you."

_So far so good, he didn't say "to kill you",_ the younger Goa'uld thought, his face and torso still parallel to the floor.

"My Lord" he made his return greeting in a suitably meek and obedient voice.

"Straighten up first"

Kopros did so, silently letting out the breath he had kept longer than strictly necessary.

"I won't hold this… incident against you." Hearing these words, it was as if a great weight was lifted off the governor's shoulders, but he kept himself composed in deferent attention.

"Thank you, my Lord"

"The Tollan blasphemers showed an unprecedented amount of boldness directly attacking my domains. This is the first time they have attempted this. While irritating, there is no doubt that its is a desperate move. Indeed they fled as I arrived, knowing they were powerless against my divine wrath." Both Kopros and the Jaffas listening in the background nodded in agreement, but only the former opend his mouth to comment.

"My Lord" he started in as respectfully a voice as he could muster "I believe those invaders were not Tollan."

"Explain."

"The warriors who came from the Chappai didn't look Tollan at all. Their weapons were totally different from ion blasters, they wore fully-enclosing armor, and it appears that the majority of the attackers were an altogether different species, bigger than a human. Of course, the ships in orbit were definitely Tollan, but from what little I could glimpse before I had to evacuate the palace, it would seem the Tollans have received help from an exterior party" He breathed in, breathed out, and finished after the pause. "One that is obviously skilled at fighting, unlike them."

A moment passed as Tanith mulled over his subordinate's observations. True, Kopros wasn't a military commander, but as a Goa'uld dignitary he still had access to all the knowledge amassed about the various no-Goa'uld powers. And the scant facts seemed to go along with his deduction. Killing three Kull Warriors was one thing, sending back their mangled remains as a gloating gesture seemed out of character. Or did it ? Maybe this war had revealed some inner steel in those admittedly advanced people ? If that was the case then they needed to be crushed quickly lest they managed to regain the edge.

At least the six Ha'taks wouldn't have to remain here for too long. He would leave a pair behind as garrison and take the other four back to Tollan space.

Maybe Lord Anubis could even be convinced to lend additional help if the Tollans posed a greater danger to Goa'uld rule in this corner of the galaxy.

"My Lord !" A Jaffa voice pulled Tanith from his reflexion. "We are being hailed, an Al'kesh from this world's garrison !"

"Display it !"

The Goa'uld lord's eyes flashed expectantly. So one of the defenders had managed to survive the battle against the Tollan fleet. Good. The bomber's sensor data would be useful.

The system schematic was replaced on the holowindow by the face of a Jaffa pilot. Tanith recognized him, one of the bomber squadron warriors, even if he was one face among thousands. He certainly looked tired, with a film of sweat and grime obscuring his features.

"Jaffa ! Report !"

"My Lord ! Please forgive our failure to defend this world !"

Tanith imperiously waved away the shame and remorse coloring the warrior's words.

"Is your Al'kesh the sole survivor from the number defending this planet ?"

Another sharp nod. "Yes, My Lord, I'm afraid none of my squadron mates survived, but they made the blasphemers pay in blood for each of their lives !" he added fiercely. "When it became clear that the enemy couldn't be stopped by us, my leader ordered me to hide and await your return so I could tell about their sacrifice !"

"It was a wise decision. The sacrifice of every Jaffa who gave his life to serve me will be honored and remembered, and their families will be cared for. Are there any surviving warriors beside you ?"

"Indeed, my Lord. My crew, and a few comrades we managed to evacuate from crippled ships. Most are injured, and our bomber has itself received damage from enemy fire" the Jaffa seemed to hesitate for an instant "I request permission to dock and disembark the wounded, my Lord"

Tanith took in the sight again. The Jaffa pilot showed courage and determination on his face, but he couldn't entirely hide his wariness, and a damaged bomber wouldn't be of much use in the retaking of Atheros City. On the other hand, it could be repaired aboard and every attack craft counted in this war.

"Permission granted, Jaffa. And as soon as you are docked inside Merciless, you will report to me. I have more questions for you, but they can wait until then."

"My Lord" the Jaffa answered ceremonially, closed fist striking his mail-covered breast, and the communication cut out.

As the lone Al'kesh detached itself from the planet's smallest moon, heading towards the much larger flagship, the Goa'uld lord's attention turned again to the reports from the ground.

Inside the commandeered bomber, the Tollan operative masquerading as a Jaffa allowed himself a discreet smile of satisfaction. The Imperial Tollan Intelligence service had put its bag of tricks to good use. The mask truly felt like a second skin, comfortable and breathable, and it mimicked the dead Jaffa's facial features perfectly, especially with a smudge of grime to add authenticity. The voice was unfortunately the agent's own, for there wasn't a sample to mimic, but he had done his best impersonation of a Jaffa warrior again and it was good enough to fool Tanith himself.

He glanced back as the connecting hatch opened with a low hiss, revealing a grinning Draka, helmet removed for now although he wore a suit of recon armor instead of his original spacesuit.

"Well, Tetrarch Vöhn, it does look like you'll have a shot at stealing a Ha'tak this time, if a dozen Al'kesh weren't enough for your ego."

**Satrian Outskirts**

**Occupied Nautona**

The night was pitch-black over the invaded Tollan world's capital. The summer storm's heavy clouds eclipsed the sky, and a steady drizzle had been falling for hours with occasional bouts of heavy rain punctuated by thunder and lightning.

Needless to say, the drenched Jaffas guarding the Chappai felt bored and miserable. They were even past the point of grousing, instead they stood silently with cowls pulled over heads to provide a modicum of shelter against the watershed. They were a hundred-strong force, but half their number was clumped below the cover of a little pavilion, an open circular portico of slender marble columns that used to be a place for bands to play and lovers to kiss. It didn't provide much protection against the winds, but at least there was a roof, and it didn't attract lightning as much as the naquadah-laced tip of a staff weapon in the middle of an open field.

The other half was manning the shallow semi-circular trench encircling the Chappai and the quartet of staff cannons trained against the metallic ring. At least the stargate did attract whatever lightning bolts decided to fall in the general area, something the Jaffas firmly believed to be magic attracting magic.

The thoroughly drenched warriors in the already inundated trench fiddled in place, caked in mud up to their hips, waiting for the hour to pass and their comrades to relieve them and sparing envious thoughts for the other Jaffas warm and dry in the Ha'tak hovering somewhere behind them. It was invisible too except when lightning briefly outlined its dark bulk, standing ominously over the blackness of the conquered city.

Satria was mostly empty, save for the buildings where Tollan captives were kept under guard. Most were men, kept there in prevision of the heavy labor that razing the town and clearing the rubble would necessitate. In the meantime they were shackled together, stripped of everything save their undergarments, under the vigilant gaze of Tanith's guards.

As to the women, they provided a pleasant relief to the otherwise bored Jaffas. Reetak himself, the First Prime left in command by his Goa'uld master, was indulging in the company of a pair of local girls. As befitted his position, he had first pick and had chosen well. He was slightly disappointed that they weren't virgins, however. Yet another proof that the Tollans were decadent and deserving Lord Tanith's just punishment. What kind of decent people let their daughters lose their virginity so casually out of wedlock ?

At least it had a silver lining : once their initial unwillingness was dispelled (which had involved both immediate threats and promises of ulterior safety) they had proved most adept at satisfying a warrior. Indeed they both showed the consummate expertise of a veteran harlot in the task of bringing pleasure with their mouth.

Similarly Reetak's subordinates were happily following his fine example aboard the mothership whose nooks and crannies echoed in the moans and occasional screams let out by hundreds of captives of both sexes, but sharing the crucial qualities of youthness and attractiveness. The skeleton crew manning the Pel'tak was thus involved with a number of Tollan beauties, and additional distraction was provided by looted alcoholic beverages in containers of all shapes laying around the room.

Therefore, the Jaffa who was supposedly responsible with monitoring sensors didn't notice the Chappai's activation, busy as he was thrusting into a smooth, firm Tollan boy's ass and listening to the shrill whimpers of his reluctant lover.

The warriors guarding the stargate didn't miss it though and instantly shook themselves from their previous state of boredom, aiming weapons toward the blue luminous disk.

Alas the thing that emerged seconds later wasn't what they expected. The low blocky shape of a Hond IV darted out at maximum speed to get clear of the danger zone but to their credit the Jaffa gunners had sharp reflexes. Four staff cannons opened fire at once and didn't miss, bathing the tank in actinic fire. Armor boiled and vaporized, sensor heads melted or were blasted away, but the tough vehicle drove through the first salvo, its torn left track slipping away. Engines integral to the road wheels kept it moving however and seconds later the tank was straddling the trench while the second Hond crossed the event horizon.

The Jaffas inside the shallow trench learned then why it wasn't a good idea to stand in a Hond's immediate vicinity when it was surrounded by enemy infantry. The close-in defense system spat a half-dozen antipersonnel grenades, and a few milliseconds later the area was flailed by the pattern of metal flechettes designed to clear out the tank's immediate periphery. Those didn't fail to their task, which consisted in shredding insufficiently protected warm bodies, and Jaffas clad in thin mail suited that description very adequately.

The handful of bodies still recognizable and twitching feebly received a final mercy from the second tank, in the form of a burst of machine gun fire.

Of course, the brutal and sudden demise of their brethren wasn't missed by the Jaffas huddled below the graceful little building standing two hundred meters away, and the fifty soldiers burst from their open-sided shelter, running to form a skirmish line while their leader fumbled with the precious communicator linking him to the Ha'tak crew.

Unfortunately for them all the nocturnal blackness was no hurdle to the multiple redundant sensors on the pair of tanks, and a fairly unbalanced firefight erupted again a second later, bullets aimed with machine precision easily winning the contest against plasma bolts loosed in the general direction of the enemy.

The warrior leader managed to shout an alarm in his communicator before a trigger-happy Draka gunner gleefully demolished the ornamental kiosk with an explosive 140 mm round.

After all the Tollans could always rebuild later. The Jaffa's body was disintegrated along with the white marble pillar he was hiding behind.

His sacrifice wasn't in vain however. On the mothership's bridge, the alerted operator paused his thrusting for a second in order to check the console he was supposed to monitor, shoving the young man's torso aside to uncover the screen. What he saw definitely pulled him back to his duties, as the idiot-proof computer-generated representation clearly stated the equivalent of "We're under attack, you moron !".

The proverbial gears ground inside the Jaffa's head and finally clicked into place, enabling a reaction at last, but even the symbiote's best efforts couldn't entirely cancel the effects of a high blood alcohol content.

"KREEE !"

The slurred bellow accompanied the activation of the Ha'tak's secondary battery targeted at the enemy location. Which was right next to the stargate. Had the Jaffa been sober, he might have given a second thought to the wisdom of this, but as it was he simply trusted the computer's aim and pressed his fist on the firing control.

A gunport flashed open on the mothership's flank, allowing the blunt man-sized barrel of a staff cannon to poke through, and it immediately began to spit bright glowing golden rounds of plasma at the coordinates fed by the gunnery director at the sedate rate of one shot every half-second.

The first round impacted sixty meters ahead of the stargate with the power of a very large artillery shell, digging a wide crater and throwing soil, debris and pieces of warm flesh in the sky. These didn't have time to fall back before the next shots landed in a random pattern that crawled towards the stargate itself.

The already damaged and slowed Hond took a direct hit. This time its resilient armor and sturdy construction couldn't save it. The effect was like an petulant child bashing his toy car with daddy's baseball bat : torn pieces of wreckage squeezed out from under the hammerblow, all of them unrecognizable as former parts of a complex vehicle. A dented and chewed-looking sheet of exterior plating sliced through the midsection of an arriving ghouloon before it ricocheted off the stargate's inner metal band and vanished forever into the incoming wormhole.

The oversized ape's squadmates emerged from the event horizon just in time for another plasma explosion to shred them, and the next volley struck the stargate's base, managing to dislodge it from its temporary stand. The still active ring fell backwards as the staff cannon's rounds overran it, and the next pair of shock troopers emerged from the sky-facing wormhole mouth with enough left-over inertia to briefly register their emergence right before they fell back in and ceased to exist.

To their officers' credit (and thanks to the tactical videolink) the ghouloons' peculiar demise was recognized for what it was, and the follow-up wave was stopped just before they stepped into the wormhole Abydos-side.

Shortly after, the Nautonan-placed stargate's internal safety features kicked in and the connection was shut off by its Abydosian clone.

Unnoticed in the confusion created by the multiple explosions and the renewed thunderstorm, a lonely Draka tank sped out of the mangled landscape, its hull blackened and covered in mud but otherwise unharmed for it had caught the edge of the artillery barrage. Its commander spared a self-congratulating thought. If they had stopped instead of driving on without waiting for the infantry to arrive, they'd have ended like the other Hond.

Disintegrated.

As the driver negociated his way through the gently sloping hills of the Tollan park, doing his best to keep protruding parts of the scenery between his tank and the distant Goa'uld mothership and thus stay hidden from the formidable gun, his crewmates barely dared breathing, until at last the vehicle drove out of the uncomfortably bare parkland and into a built-up area. As it rolled between two rows of multi-storey buildings the driver started to slow down from their break-neck, flight or die, speed, and mentally sent its thanks to the Hond's designers, more precisely whoever had conceived its brilliant running gear. The tracks must have dug wide furrows in the soggy grass but at least they had remained on even during turns taken at the tank's maximal speed of a hundred kph.

A minute passed and no enemy fire came at them, the tank commander decided to stop under an overhang protruding from a tall elegant building. External sensors showed no sign of activity. The area seemed deserted and judging by the broken window displays all around, the Jaffas had done some looting already.

"That's it. Nobody else got through." Decurion Lanke removed her helmet and ran a gloved hand through matted brown hair. Her gunner did likewise and twisted on his seat to gaze at her. The familiar hard-featured middle-aged face was sweaty despite the internal air conditioning.

"I guess we're on our own until the flyboys arrive then."

"Always look at the bright side : " her eyes regained a mischievous glint, "we've got plenty of ammo and a city-full of Jaffas to kill."

"With all due respect Ma'am, I'd rather wait for this big flying motherfucker to be neutralized before we go on a joy-ride again !"

A chuckle escaped her lips before she answered the specialist, a veteran of the Tank Corps like her, and like her drawn from the reserve two months ago to relieve the previous crew. They had served alongside in active service and old reflexes were hardly rusted.

"I think we'll do that." She unlatched her restraining harness and opened a storage box on the side, pulled out her rifle and a tactical harness, and spoke again as she started to squirm into the webbing.

"In the meantime, why not have a look at the latest Tollan fashion ?"

**Atheros System**

**Tanith's Flagship **_**Merciless**_

"My Lord, the Glider squadrons have docked. We are ready to depart at your order !"

Tanith nodded at his Jaffa subordinate's report. Staying here was useless. Whoever the invaders were, they had truly left town leaving only destruction in their wake. And the Tollans would pay dearly.

Four motherships would stay over the planet, ready to provide support to the warriors on the ground, along with a number of transports hastily repurposed as firefighters. Those were rather busy shuttling water from the river and nearby lakes to the burning city blocks.

Such large conflagrations weren't common and the quasi-medieval tech level of the Goa'uld planets meant that local fire fighting gear usually amounted to buckets passed from hand to hand. In the present case, that would obviously not be enough, and anyway the population had fled, and the town was full of the lethal traps left behind by the maybe-not-Tollans.

Kopros would remain there to command the relief and reconstruction. He was good at that kind of thing and Tanith had nominated a new Jaffa commander to keep an eye on him.

The _Merciless_ and another Ha'tak were ready to fly back to Nautona. With the Tollans apparently getting ideas, six of the powerful spacecrafts would be a better deterrent over the conquered planet. Tanith's suspected that the whole Atheros attack was intended as a diversion, and the brief message received from the Ha'tak left over Satria reinforced this feeling. The _Divine Pride and Extreme Prejudice_ had repulsed an assault through the Chappai according to Reetak, an assault that had managed to overwhelm the guards posted near the sacred travel ring. According to the sobered Jaffa the timely intervention of the Pel'tak duty crew had prevented the attackers from gaining a beachhead. A chaingang of captured locals was already busy repairing the damage, which mostly amounted to pulling the stargate back onto a new pedestal. With Jaffa guards to whip them into obedience.

Since they had atually repulsed the attack, Tanith was willing to overlook the fact that his warriors had unwittingly shot up the stargate. It was a huge taboo among the Goa'uld dominated cultures. Damaging, or attempting to damage a Chappai was tantamount to a crime against the gods. Of course the things were almost indestructible unless one wielded weapory far above what primitives could come up with.

By now much of the population of Satria had been transferred to his Throne World, starting with the most valuable individuals. He would naturally keep the best specimens for himself. The remainder would be sold on the slave markets or traded with other System Lords. With the notable exception of Anubis, the Supremacy's leaders all showed the same appetite for new human toys.

The rest of the planet's population was still being gathered. Fortunately, those city-born people had no idea how to properly hide in the wild and the Jaffa trackers were having a field day hunting those fleeing humans.

Tanith took a last impassive-looking glance at the display showing the burning capital of Atheros from above. It would be rebuilt even more magnificient than before. But in the meantime he had more important things to attend to.

"Very well, Jaffa. Set a course to Nautona and engage the hyperdrive."

**Satria**

**Occupied Nautona**

The neighborhood was obviously a commercial district, that much could be recognized even in the pitch darkness. Shops lined the sides of the street, some small, some large and spanning multiple storeys, all currently abandoned and open, doors and windows shattered or blasted away by plasma fire.

Decurion Lanke and her gunner approached with cautious steps and rifles ready. The gaping black door of the closest store could seem sinister and foreboding to some, not to Draka soldiers. Their combat sights showed everything in the silvery shades of augmented vision, turning the night into altered day. They walked silently and without a word, relying on small gestures to communicate. The driver was staying inside the tank to monitor its powerful sensors. For now, they seemed all alone in a ghost town.

Lanke winced. The carpet of broken glass shards from the main doors was making a very faint crunching sound beneath her soles despite all her caution and since her tanker uniform didn't include all the built-in sensors of infantry combat armor, she had to rely more on her own instincts. Which was all right to her. After all, when she had learnt her deadly trade as a young Citizen most of those electronic gadgets didn't exist or weren't so miniaturized. Her generation had learnt to track enemy soldiers, feral humans and escaped serfs with nothing more than binoculars, primitive thermal sights and their own sharply honed skills.

At last they stepped inside the building. The ground-level lobby was littered with tables and chairs, many of them broken or upturned. Lanke almost pictured in her mind primitive Jaffas rampaging through the unfamiliar environment and breaking things they couldn't even fathom the use of. It was a funny thought, in a way. At least janissaries used to know what a telephone or a vidscreen were !

Apparently the building lobby was a sort of restaurant, given the furnishings and the scattered tableware. The Jaffas had probably looted the kitchen, then. The pair of Drakas crossed the area, taking care to avoid stepping on the detritus littering the floor and checking every angle. There were several exits. The most obvious one was the large carpeted staircase leading to the upper levels, flanked by pairs of elevators. Smaller side doors communicated with the restaurant's working spaces. A large kitchen greeted the decurion's curiosity. It had indeed been swept by looters, the opened drawers and spilled contents made that clear. Lanke wrinkled her nose. The pillagers had left the big freezers open and left over food was starting to rot.

She shook her head once and gestured to her crewmate. Nothing worthwhile here, they were going up.

It was perhaps unfortunate that the light-intensifying sight washed out the colors. This had to be an upscale place, tastefully decorated, well, to Tollan tastes at least. It was generally more… sober than the Draka style, which leant heavily towards bright colors, elaborate shapes and figurative decoration. Baroque was the most polite adjective to describe it. The damnyanks had of course called it other names. Garish was the least insulting.

"They dress like clowns" one particularly popular Yankee vidscreen star used to deride the Drakas during his weekly show whenever the "Snakes" made the news. Unfortunately the Final War had left him alive to be captured two years later. His skinned body was left to agonize in the middle of the temporary serf processing camp under the eyes of the captive ferals, most of whom had been loyal viewers of his show.

It took two days for the skinless man to finally die. The first hours had been filled by his screams before they tapered off as moans then hoarse breaths.

And all along the bright red plastic jester's nose stayed in the middle of the pulpish, unrecognizable face, as the Drakas got their last laugh.

Ingrid Lanke pushed the memory away from her mind as they reached the second level.

Shattered display cases and booths greeted the pair and the woman made a disappointed moue. The damn Jaffas had thoroughly thrashed this area. Not unsurprisingly, as Lanke's eye caught a small glitter on the floor. She bent down and picked up a small chain. Flipping up her visor, she shone a low-power red beam on the object. It looked like gold and it weighed like it. Smiling again, she straightened up, pocketing the jewel. It wasn't much, but Lyta would certainly love it, back at the plantation. The Decurion's teenage granddaughter was as bubbly as they came and she'd delight in showing off the bracelet to her friends. It might look simple, but it came from another planet !

Lanke chuckled silently, and resumed the sweep. Behind her the gunner rolled his eyes wordlessly. It was like shopping with the wife, except there was nothing to buy, no serf attendants to grope and nobody to complain to.

**Tanith's Flagship **_**Merciless**_

**In Hyperspace**

The commandeered Al'kesh had docked just a minute before the massive mothership left the Atheros system. Agent Phelim of the ITI had flown a deliberately sedate approach and crossed the already closing bay doors on the heels of the last returning Deathglider. The docking sequence proper was automated, the bomber guided by tractor beams towards an empty berth before the metal clamps gripped the corresponding latches on the spacecraft's underside, followed by the muted clangs of power and data cables and life support pipes plugging into uncovered connectors.

The cockpit displays confirmed that external power and support were available and supplementing the internal systems, allowing the reactor to enter stand-by mode. Damage control routines activated next as the cradling berth's repair systems came online. Multipurpose robotic arms started to dance around the sections of hull that showed visible damage. Blackened and crumpled alloy panels would be cut and replaced, components swapped over, while repair nanites would work on the microscopic damage. The whole process was controlled by the mothership's computer core without human intervention. Even the most knowledgeable Jaffas couldn't do more than replace interior fittings.

All of this was magic to their eyes and their leaders made sure that it stayed that way.

It also ensured that ordinary Jaffas didn't dwell around when the "god magic" was active. Even the novelty factor faded eventually, eventually being early in a ship-borne warrior's life. Why wait and watch the arcane mechanical ballet when there were much more pleasant things to do, like raping captives or merely doing soldierly tasks such as cleaning and repairing equipment, or training in the martial arts.

This and the fact that the hijacked bomber landed last meant that the Jaffa pilots were already streaming out of the bay, and only a small party of four waited a short distance away to greet the supposedly wounded warriors inside the damaged Al'kesh. Damage that was mostly cosmetic, with no actual impediment to shipboard systems… as the Tollan technical specialists had made certain, just in case a quick escape was needed.

A minute later the bay was empty save for the quartet of mail-clad warriors outside the strike ship, and Phelim opened the side door facing them. An arm wave invited them to come in, the gesture colored with just the right hint of worry and relief, like the agent's facial expression.

"Come in, there are wounded brothers and they need some help to move !"

So helpfully the four Jaffas trotted up to the alloy threshold, following the disguised Tollan inside the darkened interior and eager to render assistance to their injured comrades.

It was a case of good intentions being misled, alas for them. Instead of hurt Jaffas, about two dozen armored Drakas greeted them.

At least their death was swift and relatively painless. In fact, the four warriors died even before realizing they'd been tricked. Their bodies were stacked in a corner of the cargo hold, under the cover of a large tarpaulin. It would only foil a cursory glance, but that was all right.

Phelim crossed the short gangway at a brisk but casual pace and stopped behind one of the structural ribs reinforcing the bay's outer wall, the nose of the Al'kesh scarcely three meters behind. With swift and practiced gestures he removed a small panel and pulled a tray of the ubiquitous colored control crystals of Goa'uld computer technology. It was only a secondary, strictly local control node for the bay's internal system, but it was connected to the rest of the mothership's network to receive commands from the central computer core.

The Tollan operative uncoiled a strand of optical cable and clipped the open end onto the Goa'uld array. The other end led to his attack computer, a very specialized and very confidential piece of hardware indeed, for it contained the best expert algorithms created by the ITI for infiltration and subornation of Goa'uld computers. Not quite sentient, the hacking AI was merely a very smart and adaptive expert system and it immediately started to intercept and analyze the signals circulating inside the control node's main databus, bypassing the encryption, which was weaker here anyway. It took a dozen seconds for the attack logic to seamlessly insert itself into the local datastream, appearing to the dumb local node to be just another legitimate piece of hardware inside the docking bay.

Once in the local loop, it became possible to warp the data… including data from the bay's surveillance sensors, before they left the node on their way to the Ha'tak's central computer core.

And it was precisely what Phelim did, temporarily freezing the sensor picture during the seven seconds needed for two dozen Draka soldiers and three more Tollan Navy special operatives to cross the distance to the exit hatch. He watched the point troops open the pressure door and peek in the passageway beyond, then wave at him as the others poured out of the bay and inside the mothership's internal spaces. Once they were out he disconnected the attack computer and replaced the cover of the control node, and jogged out in turn, leaving four cooling bodies as sole occupants of the cavernous space.

Outside was a different atmosphere. The boat bay was as close to a "high-tech" environment as could be found inside a Goa'uld ship : bright lights, gleaming unadorned metal surfaces, and exposed machinery. The wide internal corridor where Phelim joined the rest of the assault group, on the other hand, looked tighter than it really was in the dim, uncertain glow of the burning torches casting flickering shadows on the golden engraved walls.

A nod answered Vöhn's interrogative gaze. Here in the mothership's inner spaces the presence of so many warm bodies shouldn't appear suspect, at least until the alarm was raised. But the plan called for a quick simultaneous assault to gain control of the bridge and main engineering deck before the ship's lawful owners could react.

The Pel'tak was several decks above, in the central pyramid. Engineering occupied the core of the Hat'ak, to accomodate the stupendous size of the main reactor and sublight engines. Two eight-man teams would head there, while another stayed hidden around the bay as a reserve, and to keep open a way out just in case. Each with a Tollan specialist to provide the necessary technical input and handle the Goa'uld systems. Both assault teams had to cross the distance from the docking bay, which was logically placed at the periphery of the roughly disk-shaped main hull, to the central core, hopefully without encountering too much opposition on the way.

In case it became impossible, well, that's what the contingency plan was for. The reserve team would activate the two-megaton demolition charge and try to escape if they could, but every member of the mission was prepared to die if necessary. If that meant taking out Tanith as well.

Phelim took point on the way to the Pel'tak. He alone walked ahead of the stealthy soldiers, projecting an image of utter relaxation which fooled the first Jaffas he encountered two hatches forward, past the storage compartments and into the habitation sections of the mothership. The three warriors were rather slovenly dressed, one of them actually naked save a loincloth. All were unarmed, a serious mistake in Phelim's opinion, and heavily smelling of alcohol. They stared at him with barely a glimmer of comprehension, then grinned dumbly and winked conspiratorily.

"Hey brother… loosen up, kree ?" the loin-clothed one managed to slurry out without dribbling too much. "We got plenty slaves to fuck and hours t' do nothing but fuck 'em !"

Phelim stood stone-faced as the trio tried to stumble past, holding each other in a barely-working attempt at stability. _So those are the people who managed to beat us ?_ It was almost insulting. Of course, they were feeling safe in their big spaceship, under the protection of their god. Still… it was poor discipline.

And then then something happened that challenged even the veteran agent's self-control. The slimy head of a Goa'uld symbiote peeked out of the Jaffa's uncovered chest and Phelim wondered if the little beast was gasping for fresh air. It certainly didn't look too happy right now.

"Uhhh…" the Jaffa looked down and made an approximation of a worried face. "Back in, you !" His fumbling hand managed to push the protesting snake-like creature back inside the pouch.

The disguised Tollan swallowed a sudden impulse to retch. Fortunately, the slovenly trio must have remembered they had something to do, for they resumed their unsteady progress down the passageway and away from the soldiers hidden behind the regularly-spaced structural ribs, their chameleon suits blending in the gloom to make them harder to see. Especially by drunk Jaffas.

Having watched the whole encounter, Vöhn shook his head minutely before the group resumed its sneaky progress.

Bravo Team's advance through the lower decks was quieter, as they avoided the crew quarters in favor of less-travelled areas. According to the ship schematics downloaded by Phelim from the bay's control node, the surrounding compartments were mostly storage for consumables and spare parts as well as life-support modules. The fittings were correspondingly more sober, the gilded hieroglyph walls and burning torches absent, replaced by bronze-sheened walls and recessed artificial lighting strips. There was also a faint, low hum of power machinery that was perceptible by the Draka soldiers' augmented hearing only. They weren't very far from the keel of the mothership. Ambient gravity even felt slightly firmer, maybe from proximity to the artificial gravity plating.

The eight Drakas and one Tollan made faster progress than Vöhn's Alpha team and reached the thick bulkhead protecting the engineering core just as Alpha met the first sober and alert Jaffa patrol they couldn't avoid, since the only nearby exit led to a large roomful of partying warriors.

The inconspicuous com relays left by the teams like the proverbial bread crumbs enabled them to keep in touch despite the shielding effect of the of the Ha'tak's structure. Therefore the short "Alpha, engaged" then "Alpha, clear, proceeding" burst radio notices reached Bravo team even as they prepared to cut through the wall. While the lower decks did allow for an unchallenged passage, they also didn't communicate with the armored engine core. Therefore, the team had to make their own door.

The low grade trinium alloy used in modern Goa'uld warship construction was immensely strong by all accounts, with a very high tensile strength and a melting point higher than tungsten's. Cutting through a ten-centimeter plate was no small feat, but the combined Tollan and Draka toolbox was up to the task.

A square section of the bulkhead was selected and eight shaped charges applied around its perimeter. The cutting explosives merely destabilized the alloy with their muted detonations. They weren't strong enough by themselves to cut through.

Then the team's Tollan specialist began to apply a special paste from a pistol-like container around a square section of the bulkhead. The paste was a thermite equivalent and it burned at a temperature far above the melting point of the alloy. It took a minute, during which the intense white glare cut stark shadows inside the corridor and the air temperature climbed to oven-like levels, and local life support reacted automatically, sending cold nitrogen both to lower the temperature and starve what it recognized as an internal fire, although the warning signal it dutifully tried to sent over to the Pel'tak was intercepted and digested by the Tollan computer clamped on the local control node like an electronic vampire.

The thermal attack further fragilized the wall section, now glowing red and no longer uniformly flat, as the localized mechanical expansion made the heated material bulge ever so slightly.

The next step couldn't be subtle. Even then the abused metal was still stronger than its equivalent steel thickness and nothing but a strong concussive force would finally displace it.

Bravo Team retreated back two compartments away and the Decurion in charge held the detonator in his gloved hand, ready to activate the single concussion charge plastered on the center of the target square. Everyone accounted for.

"Fire in the hole !"

This time the aftereffects were very noticeable. A sharp tremor shook the deck under the team's feet, and managed to reach a damage control sensor that wasn't currently under the spell of the Tollan hacking computer.

A shrill alarm cut the Pel'tak's subdued atmosphere and suddenly jolted the bridge crew awake.

The duty Jaffa looked at the damage control board and made a perplexed face. On one hand, what seemed very much like a concussion had just happened. On the other hand, there was no fire or decompression alert. It was puzzling. Nobody should be inside that area according to the internal sensors, but better safe than sorry.

Sending a patrol to check the place was quickly done, and the bridge Jaffa relaxed slightly, waiting for the patrol's report in the reborn silence.

The detonation managed to dislodge the slab of alloy almost clear out of the bulkhead so that it was holding only by a short length of ragged, buckled material. The metal was still extremely hot and the atmosphere scorching, which the Drakas' armor and the Tollan's hazardous environment suit thankfully protected against. One of them held a plasma cutter and applied it to the connecting metal, slowly cutting through the length, while another retrieved the portable jack from the team's forced entry kit and began to force the two masses away from each other, almost like a door, using his own muscular strength to pump the mechanism.

Metal groaned and sizzled in the hellish corridor, lit only by the incandescent glare of plasma flame and cherry-red alloy. Three minutes later, the Goa'uld-created material finally gave up and the tortured slab clattered down on the floor, leaving a new opening to the flagship's Engineering Core.

Just in time for the Jaffa patrol to cross the airtight doors into the overheated compartment. They didn't have the benefit of fully enclosed suits and it was therefore an experience akin to stepping inside an oven. The four men recoiled instinctively as scalding hot air gushed out and the quickest one slammed his hand on the closure button. Panels hissed shut to the warriors' immediate relief.

Ha'taks were not, by far, the most ergonomically and efficiently designed spaceships in the galaxy. Yet, some basic practical concerns were accounted for in their layout and furnishing, such as internal communications. The senior Jaffa used the nearest intraship com panel to reach the Pel'tak and declare an emergency, namely, an internal fire. What else could it be ?

The perplexed bridge operator checked his damage control board. Strangely, it didn't seem to concur with his brother-in-arm's diagnostic. In such a situation, the standard Jaffa response was to trust the fellow warrior. After all, even god magic was known to fail, sometimes, a slightly blasphematory notion that nevertheless went a long way towards ensuring sensible warriors a longer life. Usually.

Shrugging internally, he did the logical thing. Fire needed air to burn, everyone knew that. Without air, no more fire.

Fortunately, the affected compartment was close to the external hull. Opening a path from there was straightforward. It would open two more compartments to vacuum, but there was nobody inside, and it would be quicker than simply reversing air flow in the ventilation system.

A few seconds later, a localized hurricane roared through empty and not-empty passageways, venting the steaming atmosphere into the exterior void where it ceased to exist upon touching the wall of exotic energy holding the FTL tunnel open.

The armored hatch on the mothership's underside closed again, and a low-oxygen atmospheric mix started to pour back into the emptied spaces as the four Jaffas got ready to check the place again.

The canned air was noticeably fresher when the quatuor reentered the compartment. It also felt thinner and less sustaining, but at least it was clear. Their first progress was unimpeded and they failed to notice any obvious sign of fire on the metal walls. This changed as they rounded a corner and caught sight of the still glowing hole in the bulkhead. But that was less of a hazard than the obvious intruders standing nearby, rifles trained in their direction.

It was perhaps fortunate that not all four Jaffas came into view at once. Therefore, the trailing pair merely recoiled in battle-trained reflex as the heads of their leading comrades suddenly exploded in red mist, and quickly came to the joint conclusion that following would not be a good idea. Dropping to a crouch, the pair hurried in reverse, retracing their steps and firing wildly at the distant bulkhead, more for the sake of returning fire than for effectiveness. The airtight dividing doors were closing yet again when a Draka grenade rolled down after ricocheting through the bend and exploded. The half-closed panels caught most of the blast and shrapnel, but not all, before sliding completely shut. One of the Jaffas was dead, the cause being the razor-sharp little spike protruding from his eye socket. More were sticking out from his body, but his chainmail had brought a measure of protection and prevented them from penetrating too far. Alas, it didn't cover his face.

Nevertheless, the same armor and a luckier streak meant that the last Jaffa was only injured instead of killed outright, and ground his teeth against the pain of torn flesh to slam his bloody hand onto the communication panel.

Vöhn heard Bravo Leader's report a scant second before the ship wide alarm sounded.

_There goes stealth,_ he thought. "Hold Engineering and place charges on the reactor as planned" - Bravo leader acknowledged the order and the Tetrarch tuned back to Alpha channel. "Okay, Plan A went through the window, so Plan B is smash through and grab the bridge, and hopefully Tanith as well. Let's go !"

Acknowledgments lights blinked blue on his helmet display. The team wasn't far from the Pel'tak - according to the downloaded map they had to cross two more intervening frames before they reached Tanith's quarters and the ship's command bridge, both of which opened on a common passageway.

And the main barracks were behind them. If they didn't make it fast to take the top deck, the team would be caught between two fires.

The eight Drakensis soldiers of Alpha Team broke into close quarter battle formation, three on point, three bringing the rear, with Vöhn and his attached Decurion in the center flanking the irreplaceable Tollan operative. The ship-wide alarm was blaring loudly and a heavy drumming of footsteps greeted the team as they approached a crossways : thrusting his rifle around the corner, one of the point men caught sight of a Jaffa reaction squad jogging in neat ranks down the perpendicular passageway. Hostile-coded icons blossomed automatically on the team's tactical maps, and a burst of rifle fire put a sudden stop to the alien warriors' advance by cutting down the front rank, prompting the rest to crouch or scatter behind the structural ribbing and return fire instantly.

Plasma fire zipped across the corridor and impacted spectacularly but harmlessly on the walls, sprinkling golden sparks and molten droplets around. Their opponent adjusted his aim calmly through the linked weapon sight and let loose a couple of three-round bursts in quick succession, dispatching the pair of Jaffas crouching out of hard cover.

A Goa'uld shock grenade sailed down, masterfully thrown to bounce off the wall and roll around the corner, only to be ignored as unthreatening to soldiers in sealed environmental suits.

Blinding light and ear-splitting high-pitched noise burst out of the grenade and the Draka soldier stopped firing. Just as expected, the enemy warriors misinterpreted the interruption and leapt out of cover, intent on closing with the supposedly disabled intruders.

They were caught flat-footed by the answering flash-bang of the Draka-built equivalent. Yelps of shock, pain and surprise, and the staccato of rifle bursts from the three point men followed the flash of disabling man-made thunder, finishing off the obstruction.

Hastily but professionally applied, a demo charge blew off the next door right in the face of another Jaffa blocking group, prompting another firefight in the Ha'tak's confines. This one was short-lived : following their own wall of full-auto suppressive fire, the three Draka soldiers sprinted at the opposing group, covering the short ten-meter distance in a heartbeat and ignoring the scattered plasma shots hitting them, letting their armor absorb the destructive energy. A hurricane of rifle butts, fists and boots and layer blades tore through the surprised Jaffas, the sheer superhuman fury of the assault leaving them unable to react effectively. The farthest ones fired at the melee in panic, hitting their engaged comrades rather than the whirling, shifting shapes in their midst.

In a single low flowing motion, Citizen Force Monitor Gerring drew his pistol from his thigh holster even as his other hand punched the clostest Jaffa's knee, shattering the joint and yanked the suddenly unbalanced body down in front of him to absorb a zat discharge, right before his answering bullet struck the shooter right on his ritual tattoo and blew his brain back, splattering the bulkhead. Gerring didn't pause to congratulate himself on the perfect headshot, choosing instead to empty the oversized handgun's magazine into the still-standing enemies.

Only when all the chainmail-wearing bodies were all dead and unmoving did he check his own state. His armor sported a couple of scorched marks where plasma had burned through the external mimetic layer and ablative coating, and the internal dispersion layer was busy dissipating the uncomfortable hotspots. Nothing to worry about, his enhanced metabolism would repair whatever light surface burn on his skin long before the battle was over.

The bloody coating was just icing on the cake.

His peripheral vision caught a flurry of movement behind him and he turned instantly with the reloaded gun. A smirk creased his lips, unseen behind th facemask. The command group was standing a few paces behind, in the middle of the slaughterhouse-like length of corridor, and the Tetrarch's extended fist was closed on a screeching, flaying mature symbiote. A mere handspan separated it from the frozen Tollan operative.

Vöhn cocked his helmeted head, bringing the snarling little snake to face him.

"Sorry" he intoned "I know this could have been the start of a beautiful friendship" he continued in a mock regretful tone, "but I don't have time for tea and crumpets right now !"

His other hand slashed up, gripped the serpentine head and twisted it forcefully. The little beast's angry hissing was cut abruptly and the last sound it made was a dull thump, hitting the ground bonelessly.

The group's forward progress resumed immediately and unopposed for the next three minutes, then a warning signal appeared on the team's helmet displays. It was the chemical alarm and a molecular schematic sprang into view thanks to the suit's biochemical sensors. Vöhn recognized the molecule's general outline - it was after all very similar to one particular compound used by the Domination. A fast-acting, colorless and odorless poison gas.

Fortunately, the suit's protective features were designed against that kind of attack, and so were the Tollan's softsuit worn under the Jaffa disguise, its translucent integrated helmet deployed ever since the infiltration mission had become an all-out assault. So the team continued its advance unimpeded until they caught sight of the last partition door, richly decorated in gold patterns. Behind it laid the Pel'tak and Tanith's apartments.

As the soldiers reached the last ten meters they felt a weight pulling at them and getting heavier by the second. The gravity indicator on their displays confirmed the feeling : the ship's defenders were actually increasing the artificial gravity to try and stop them. It had to be a desperate measure, for it would affect every deck and compartment except the executive core, therefore affecting the Jaffas behind them as well.

Vöhn smirked evilly as he imagined the hapless aliens unable to move, pressed on the decks as their bodies apparent mass suddenly increased to ten times their usual weight. On the other hand, their Tollan ally was well and truly pinned to the ground too, breathing with difficulty and on the brink of unconsciousness. Himself and his Drakensis brethren could thank their designers who had accounted for wide variations in gravity for the purposes of interplanetary colonization and space warfare. Therefore their cardiovascular system, while strained by the present ten gees, was still able to feed the augmented muscles that allowed them to move even in the current conditions, with the additional help of the suits' pseudomuscles.

They crawled like slugs but they still moved forward, grinding their teeth and willing their bodies to move through the thick invisible molasses. Vöhn dragged the Tollan along and watched his point men reach the golden doors, push themselves on their knees in a superhuman effort and press the plastic explosives on the decorative Egyptian-themed patterns.

They crawled a couple meters back and sent the detonation signal. The backblast was almost lost in the general oppressive downpush, but when the ship's automated safeties cut in the gravity returned to normal a second later and the lead trio leapt forward to secure the newly-revealed passageway.

Agent Phelim was still groggy and limp, so the Tetrarch continued to drag him like a sack of potatoes inside the even-gaudier compartment and propped him against the wall for the time being, mostly protected by a structural rib.

Now was the decisive moment. On one side, the closest to space, was the pel'tak. On the other were Tanith's spatious dwellings.

Bravo Team had reported successfully mining the reactor core and beating off a Jaffa counter-attack on their positions. If all else failed they could always blow up the mothership.

The demo charge's sharp boom echoed in the metallic confines and the well-rehearsed entry dance saw the three pointmen erupt into the bridge behind the blast and methodically shoot the handful of exposed Jaffas inside. Things went awry when a wide kinetic pulse blew them backwards like bowling pins to crash into the walls and a deep Goa'uld voice boomed angrily.

"**FOOLS ! HOW YOU DARE ATTACK A GOD !"**

Full-automatic rifle fire spat back from the shaken but committed soldiers, splashing ineffectively over the Goa'uld's personal shield. His mocking cackle greeted the futile effort.

"**YOU WILL DIE FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSION !"**

Vöhn and his executive Decurion stormed through the torn doorway, firing at a run. They had to close with Tanith to neutralize the effect of his shield. But the self-proclaimed god wasn't cooperating. More kinetic pulses slammed in quick succession, their wide spread impossible to dodge even for the quick Drakenses. Arminius Vöhn felt himself picked up and flung like a cannonball, and a myriad of bright stars exploded in his vision when his body slammed into the wall, leaving another Draka-shaped imprint in the ductile golden ornamental layer.

Gerring shook himself up and took a step towards the target Goa'uld, fingers closing on the hilt of his combat knife, only for a narrow-setting kinetic pulse to strike his torso. The concentrated energy hit like a giant supersonic fist, overloading his suit's reactive layer. The shockwave swept through his body, shattering ribs and tearing internal organs, and the Drakensis slumped to the floor, mortally wounded and unmoving. Behind him, a deep imprint on the wall told of the violence of the strike.

"**YOU WILL ALL DIE AGAIN AND AGAIN AS I VISIT MY DIVINE WRATH UPON YOU !"**

_Damn this overbred parasite needs to shut up !_ Vöhn readied himself for a concerted rush with his remaining soldiers in the room to outrace the Goa'uld's annoyingly effective strikes. He estimated that two more would be incapacitated, but even the death of three elite soldiers was a small price to pay for the capture of a Goa'uld lord and his mothership.

He launched himself along with his men. Fast as they were focused kinetic pulses struck them with infernal accuracy before they could cross half the distance, incapacitating two more soldiers with the last wide-setting pulse sending Vöhn careening into the bulkhead and tasting blood.

_The hell !_

"**KNEEL BEFORE YOUR GOD, BLASPHEMER !"**

"FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE !"

The unexpected reply caught both Draka and Goa'uld by surprise. The following bright blue energy pulse that struck Tanith straight on was a surprise as well, especially when his personal shield failed to stop it entirely and he staggered back under the shock. The Tetrarch's peripheral vision caught the sight of Agent Phelim, aiming a Tollan ion blaster in a two-handed grip just before he let loose a second overcharged pulse. Vöhn understood at once : recent Ha'tak shields were upgraded against the phaseshifting component of Tollan ion weapons… but obviously Tanith had forgotten to upgrade his personal shield as well. With a savage grin, he leapt again as a third pulse kept the Goa'uld unbalanced and launched himself like a vaulting tiger onto Tanith just after a fourth Tollan shot. The weakened shield didn't stop the Drakensis' bodymass and he slammed into the stunned Goa'uld lord, knocking the breath out of him.

Rolling down, the Pankration grappling training caught in automatically and Taith found himself immobilized in a spread-eagle position, unable to shoot Phelim as the agent closed in and ripped the personal shield emitter off Tanith's chest.

His Goa'uld flashing angry glare met the Tollan's right before the operative's fist smashed into his face and then everything went black.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Settling accounts**

"Ah. Our friend's waking up at last."

The being known as Tanith opened his eyes, with more difficulty than expected. His eyelids felt swollen and sore, and a brief moment of self-examination revealed that his whole face - the host's face - was rather bruised along with a nose that was clearly broken. Memories came back. Well, the physical shock accounted for the loss of consciousness by both host and symbiote then. The injuries would heal quickly at least.

More distressing was the situation as he discovered it. The surroundings were familiar enough - his own quarters aboard the flagship. That was the only good news. That he was sitting bound and naked on a low wooden chair, one intended for servants, wasn't a welcome observation at all. Nor was the presence of the tall, hulking even as seen from the sitting Goa'uld's viewpoint, man who was neither Jaffa nor Tollan, nor even entirely human as his slit-pupil eyes showed in a face whose features could fit a god, a mixture of striking features and underlying hardness. A System Lord could recognize himself in those traits, Tanith surprised himself thinking.

The man's helmet was off, but the rest of his fighting suit left no mistake. He was one of the warriors who had somehow gotten aboard the _Merciless_ and fought their way right to the top. Presently the suit's camouflage was inactive and the bound prisoner took a detailed view of the dark, almost black strands of pseudo-musculature making up the majority of its surface, along with unrecognizable details scattered across and the more recognizable devices fastened on carrying hard-points. Grenades of some sort, ammunition packs for the projectile weapons. It was plain and unadorned, closer to Kull armor in its obvious emphasis on effectiveness rather than aesthetic needs.

Who were these people who had rushed to the Tollans' aid ?

Whoever they were, their leader - he had to be - was clearly awaiting an answer as his eyes bore on Tanith's. Perhaps it was fortunate that he wasn't a Tollan - if that was indeed the case. Maybe his people would be open to negociation. At any rate, playing the god act would certainly be useless, Tanith decided. It was better to try and reach an agreement, as annoying as it was. Revenge could come later. Right now, he had to save his own life, for he doubted very much his Jaffas would come and save it - assuming his captor wouldn't blow his dual brains before in a very unrepairable way.

"I am Tanith. Who are you ?"

Arms crossed, still as a statue, his interlocutor let a few seconds pass in silent observation before replying in an even, neutral tone.

"I'm Tetrarch Vöhn of the Draka. Tetrarch is my rank. You and I aren't acquainted well enough that I could tell you my first name." There was a slight accent in the way he spoke the Goa'uld tongue, as if he'd learned it in a different sector of the galaxy. There was a very brief flicker of a smile. "Since you're not pretending to be a god, I won't pretend to be a Tollan."

"Another race then. Let me guess" Tanith fought a smirk and didn't entirely succeed. "You have only recently discovered the Chappai, and your people are probing your way into the galaxy. You are not the first such case." Vöhn's remained inscrutable, and the Goa'uld went on. "Surely you think your level of technological prowess makes you safe. Many races have thought the same in the past. Until they met the Goa'uld and either were destroyed, or realized how outgunned they were and wisely chose not to offer the Goa'uld a reason to swat them like flies."

"Is that a warning ?" Always this impassive, almost disinterested tone.

"No" Tanith offered his best friendly smile, which was a bit awkward in his current state "an advice. One that your people - Drakas - ought to follow if you intend to live. Not that I can guarantee another Goa'uld won't decide to crush you under his heel, but…" he took a cunning expression "perhaps I could use my, ah, influence for your benefit"

An unexpected chuckle escaped the Draka's lips.

"Well, so far I'm rather underwhelmed by your mightiness. After all, you're held captive in your own flagship. At my mercy, in case you hadn't remarked. Actually, I think you should feel lucky I'm not Tollan, or I doubt we'd be discussing so… pleasantly right now."

A spike of anger flashed across Tanith's mind. That was no way a Lord was usually addressed, so casually, without the slightest hint of reverent fear. But it was true - appearances were against him at the moment.

"I wonder what the Tollan offered you in exchange for your assistance. Their precious phase-shifting technology, maybe ?"

His captor's head swiveled slowly from side to side, the gesture's meaning of denegation confirmed an instant later along with a conniving grin.

"No - nor have they anytime acknowledged that such technology exists, although it wasn't hard to deduce - but their lack of success against your forces made it quite clear it isn't as useful as it used to be, doesn't it ?"

Vöhn broke his previous statue-like stance, stepped forward and bent slightly, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every way as if sharing a good story with an old friend instead of a captor interrogating a prisoner.

"Truth be told, it's not as if we're stuck in eternal love of the Tollan Empire. Should we find a more valuable… partner, I'm quite sure my government would consider, ah, a change of stance, let's say ?"

Straightening up and grinning conspiratorily, he went on for the Goa'uld's benefit, making a show of checking around for witnesses. His men and the Tollan advisor were out in order to let him play this little story - in fact, they were currently busy in the sarcophagus chamber trying to revive the mortally wounded Draka soldiers. There wasn't much time left before the _Merciless_ left hyperspace, and there was still a shipful of Jaffas to deal with, although they were currently locked in sealed compartments. Simply venting them into space was to be avoided if possible since it would also kill the numerous Tollan civilians serving as pleasure slaves.

"But in the immediate present, I have to consider whether it is more worth keeping you alive or simply shooting you and burning your body." The sudden change of words was all the more contrasted by the still-friendly attitude. "Or striking a deal with one of your ambitious lieutnants, all of which would certainly love to, as we say at home, become Archon in the place of the Archon".

Tanith stiffened on his uncomfortable seating. This stated alternative was not only unpleasant, it was also very possible. News of his defeat and captivity could spark a war of succession back home. The thought of losing his standing was almost worse than death. Grudgingly, he had to admit the shrewdness of the Draka's plan.

"Then what do you want from me in exchange for my… liberation ?" he managed to speak the last word even though it burned his mouth.

Vöhn clapped his hands, smiling wide to show his delight at the "negociations" satisfactory progress.

"Simple. The return of every Tollan captive in your possession, the departure of every Jaffa currently standing on Tollan soil - basically, a return to pre-war borders… and last, the surrender of every Goa'uld ship in the Nautona system."

Tanith's eyes flashed in shock at the Draka's last demand. The first ones were reasonable enough, but this ! It was tantamount to losing a third of his fleet ! It was unacceptable !

"How dare you…! You're asking me to hand you half my fleet ! You might as well kill me right now !" Such a loss would make him easy prey to any one of his Goa'uld neighbors. They'd pretend to help him in keeping order in his dominion, the sanctimonious bastards, and move in to "secure" outlying worlds - just like he would do in their place. Lord Anubis would probably give his blessings as well. Such was Goa'uld society : it didn't allow for weakness.

In response, his captor unholstered his hand-held weapon and pointed the business end at Tanith's forehead.

"Well, then. Your successor might be more sensible."

The naked Goa'uld stared in defiant anger. "Fool ! If I die, those Tollans are as good as dead - my successors won't have any reason to send them back ! And I can't lose half my fleet or you'll have to deal with every other Goa'uld lord in the sector ! Is that what you want ?"

The tirade seemed to have an effect. The Tetrarch paused before pressing the trigger, appeared to mull over his captive's words, then raised the gun.

"All right. I can see the logic in your statement. Let's make it the ship we're standing on, and the mothership that landed over the Tollan army base on Nautona. That's my last offer and it's a generous one. Take it or leave it."

It was indeed more tolerable. Losing just two Ha'taks, as painful as it felt, would not fatally weaken his fleet. He could hold on his dominion, fend off any attempt by a competing Goa'uld and then rebuild his forces… Yes, it was acceptable.

"I accept. But how can I be sure you will keep your end of the agreement ?"

"You can't. Except for the fact that it's indeed easier for us, and for the Tollans as well, although they will begrudge the fact that you're still alive. It might be wise to make it a treaty of non-aggression between yourself and the Tollan Empire."

A couple seconds passed, then the Draka spoke again.

"If it's agreed, then, we'll have to dress you. After all" a mischievous smile appeared on Vöhn's lips "it wouldn't do to address your troops in your present attire, would it ?"

**Satrian Outskirts**

**Liberated Nautona**

Dark and sullen, Tanith's Jaffas were streaming across the disturbed grounds of the park, towards the stargate currently operating as a gateway to their Lord's capital world, where they were returning unharmed but not in the triumphant way they had expected. While they were allowed to keep their weapons and personal possessions, anything else they had to leave behind. Such were the terms of the treaty their Lord has somehow reached with the Tollan Empire. A puzzling development indeed, for so far everything had gone according to plan. No explanation was given, just a short and peremptory declaration by Lord Tanith stating that the war was over and that Jaffa forces were to leave Nautona, either by ship or through the Chappai. The Ha'taks had already left the System. Every mothership, except Tanith's own flagship and the one landed on Nautona's soil.

The strange soldiers who had landed from shuttles minutes after the declaration of peace had formed a cordon around the ship's main hatch. Their officer had exchanged a few words with the Prime in charge of the Jaffas, and they were ushered almost courteously on their way, asked to deposit their weapons before embarking the transports - Tollan models - with the promise that they'd be given back at the end of the trip. Even as the Jaffas were marching out of the Ha'tak, some of the soldiers, with a few locals in the uniform of their Fleet had come aboard and taken possession of the Pel'tak, no doubt to check if the crew hadn't left any displeasant surprise behind. The Prime had been sorely tempted to left the self-destruct ticking, but in the end, orders were orders. It felt quite scandalous to surrender a perfectly working Ha'tak to the puny blasphemers - hopefully their godly Lord would explain why.

And if He didn't, well, it wouldn't be the first time Jaffas bled and died for victory and then were told to go home and forget about it as the gods argued and negotiated over the fate of entire worlds.

Unknown to them, their divine master was observing the process from the lofty height afforded by the orbiting _Merciless,_ but doing so under the vigilant watch of a heavily-armed group of Drakas. None were particularly talkative in his presence, except Vöhn, who did the necessary talking.

The big spaceship was empty now. The Tollan captives had been evacuated by shuttle, with took a lot of soothing and cajoling given their emotional state. The Jaffas… well, the Drakas had been prepared to let them go.

Until Tanith reasoned that since those warriors had failed to protect him, and were the only ones with direct knowledge that he, too had failed to use his divine power to neutralize the intruders, they were unfortunately expendable. Letting them live and spread tales among the rest of his underlings couldn't be allowed. Not bothering to explain the full reasons of his request, he had therefore suggested that they be taken care of, arguing for the Drakas' sake that it would prevent them from trying to retake control of the ship, something Vöhn wouldn't want, would he ?

The Tetrarch had pondered the request for a while, come to the very conclusion Tanith wanted to keep for himself, and decided there was no harm in granting it.

The Jaffas were told to assemble in a mostly empty storage bay. Then the large exterior hatch was remotely opened and the hapless warriors were sucked into vacuum. Their erst master merely spared a look of satisfaction, which the Drakas found somewhat callous but didn't bother to comment upon, at least until the frozen bodies hit Nautona's atmosphere and made pretty fireworks.

Down below, the stargate shut down after the latest batch of departing Jaffas, and came back to life minutes later, this time for an incoming wormhole. Again, the watching Drakas and Tollans tensed and trained weapons just in case. While Tanith had given clear orders, there was always the remote possibility that some Goa'uld underling at the other end might get the wrong ideas. The fear wasn't vindicated though. From the blue light emerged another line of battered and tattered Tollanites. Wide eyes, disbelieving eyes, traumatized eyes flitting back and forth as they found that salvation had come indeed. Orderlies and medical personnel reached forward to assist those whose shambling legs barely supported them and relieve those refugees who were carrying others - the weakest and the lamest - with portable stretchers and emergency medipacks.

Polignac watched as well the scene that so closely echoed another exodus - the men, women and children from Atheros who had emerged from a similar wormhole into the baking sun of Abydos only to find themselves snatched by the Domination's serf processing machine, efficient as always, a machinery polished by centuries of practice. Preliminary triage. Separating men from women, young from old, feeding each line into the successive administrative and technical steps. DNA-patterning, tattooing the unique coded identification in orange ink. Preliminary medical exam, wide spectrum inoculations. Orientation towards the temporary holding camps where representatives from the Domination's serf trading houses would pick and choose from that human stock. Those with valuable skills would commend higher prices - but all would need training in their new environment. If they were smart, they would adapt quickly. If not… demonstrating what kind of fate awaited rebels would serve as an object lesson for the rest.

The soldier's mind found it ironic that a very similar process was happening before him, only with the opposite goal : liberating instead of enslaving. The Drakas were lending their skill at managing this kind of disorganized crowd, directing the flux of disoriented humanity into orderly processing lines. Their medical technology was at work too, supplementing the Tollans'. Exhaustion, injuries, bruises to treat, infections to stave off, including the possibility of a bioweapon which the Domination was best equipped to detect. But physical harm wasn't the worst thing. It would heal quite fast. Psychological trauma, on the other hand, would take a long time and constant support to recover, and the returning civilians were showing that in spades. Females especially. The telltales signs of sexual abuse were obvious to Polignac - after all, he had himself inflicted those in the past. The vacant, fleeing eyes, the reflexive recoil when approached by men, the awkward walking stance.

Quite a few males were showing the same as well.

Rape counseling wasn't exactly developed in the Domination. Mostly an academic field of study. Citizens didn't get raped, for obvious reasons. Captured ferals often were as part of the Yoke Welcome Package if they were pretty enough, and the resulting trauma was considered a part of the whole experience. Rape happened amongst serfs and it was the owner's responsibility to deal with it. And by definition, a master could have intercourse with a serf he owned and it would never be called rape.

So the Tollan establishment would have to do most of the heavy lifting there, which was after all their duty. Still, Polignac reckoned, it would be worth studying the effect of Drakensis pheromones on such cases, if only for the intellectual aspect of it. A little curling of his lips went with the thought.

**March 23****rd****, 2011**

**30km east of Satria City**

The planet's capital was invisible from the place where Polignac sat. Even with the hill's elevated vantage point, the planet's curvature just concealed the top of the city's highest buildings and the outskirts faded in the haze. At least there weren't any more fires blackening the sky, the funeral pyres of those left dead behind the retreating Jaffa infestation. Fortunately, the alien invaders were all gone before the true scope of their depredations was fully discovered. Otherwise, the Draka troops covering their orderly evacuation might have had trouble preventing bloodthirsty Tollans from scraping and clawing their way through the thin screen to gouge Jaffa eyes, as some had tried, fortunately isolated incidents. Imperial Navy reinforcements were shuttled in for the grim task of combing the beleaguered town for hidden survivors. About a hundred were found, many of them starving and almost delirious. Outnumbered by the corpses left where the Jaffas had shot or otherwise killed them, and never had time to properly dispose of them. Days later, the bloated and roting bodies stank to high heaven, which made them easier to find, but the actual task of removing them a lot more unpleasant. Fortunately the local custom was to burn the dead. Which was done as fast as those dead were identified, on one of the great pyres which had burned for days and nights without interruption.

The same scenes were repeated across the surface of the liberated world, on a smaller scale.

All in all, the Tollans had gotten off lightly, Anton thought. According to the latest census, the number of dead amounted to about thirty thousand, and another thousand missing. It was possible that some of these were still alive on some Goa'uld held world, having slipped through the great recall initiated by Tanith in exchange for his own liberation.

Still, no less than three millions more had returned through the stargate, a huge pendular movement that took a full week to accomplish. The magnitude of the displacement was enormous. It was truly remarkable given the otherwise artisanal nature of Goa'uld logistics. On the other hand, said logistics hadn't been up to the task of keeping those people fed and cared for along the way, which explained the exhausted and starving refugees, some having walked for days without a meal before they could be sent through the local stargate, having retraced their way to slavery on one of Tanith's planetary domains with barely a stop in the middle.

No doubt the survivors would be forever marked by this forced transhumance. And forever grateful to the Domination for bringing them home, Anton smirked behind the pair of stylish sunglasses he had appropriated in the first days, exploring the empty city with a cadre of Tollan officials. Self-polarizing like their Earth-built equivalent, with a frame of light self-adjusting metal, they also incorporated a miniaturized holographic display that was a step above Domination tech. It could pick up and display feeds from the Tollan global datanet - which wasn't much at first, since most of the local infrastructure was shut down. Their input method was also remarkable - neural impulse actuation, a technology that was already known and used on Earth but not with the same level of miniaturization.

The official news broadcats weren't very interesting, but the rest was a rather fascinating insight into Tollan culture and mental processes. And once he'd found the barely-concealed porn datachannels, things had gotten even more captivating. Most of the content was downright tame and predictable for Draka eyes, but it seemed there was a market for more exotic tastes. A market the Domination's movie studios would undoubtedly be very keen to satiate. After all, the State would need Tollan currency in the future.

It looked like Draka-Tollan relations were going to deepen after all. The diplomats' frenzied ballet in the war's immediate aftermath had yielded several agreements, all building on the slightly leonine conditions imposed by the Domination in exchange for its military help but appearing to balance the benefits of the sudden windfall from the war spoils. The Tollans were very interested in the upgraded Goa'uld shield technology. The Drakas were interested in everything, and riding their new "allies" coat-tails to greedily acquire more applied technological knowledge, even though the first generation of reverse-engineered hardware was coming out of the pipeline back home.

And some particular pieces of Goa'uld hardware had been safely tucked away, from Atheros straight to Abydos and then Luna. Like the unusual field generator found inside the Governor's palace, which the handful of Tollan technicians present had been awfully nosy about. A field generator that, as the Drakas deduced quickly, had a lot to do with the neutering of the Imperials' hush-hush phase shifting tech, and therefore was of strategic importance. Such a generator was probably built into the captured Ha'taks as well, but their study had only recently begun in earnest, as the last prisoner was returned and Tanith was ushered back to his throne world, covertly and during the night to prevent any interference. The Drakas knew it was a gamble, fulfilling their promise. The Goa'uld would not forget them, just as he hadn't forgotten the Tollans. He would look for revenge. But he was unlikely to do so quickly. A little backstabbing was firmly in the Domination's diplomatic traditions, and care had been taken, with the collaboration of the ITI, to make it known to Tanith's Goa'uld underlings that he had just suffered an humiliating defeat. Goa'uld ambition and treachery being what it was, Tanith would certainly have his hands full for some time. Time for the Tollan Empire to rebuild and strengthen its forces, with a little Draka handling so they could serve as a convenient buffer between Tanith and the Domination.

Evidence of the closer association was lying before Polignac's eyes. From his perch, a flat stone protruding from the grassy hillside, he held a commanding view of the constructions rising on the plain below. Low buildings, most of them single or double storey things, white stone panels on metal frames with expansive glass panels to provide an airy, luminous look. Typical Tollan. Later, the Draka personnel would commit some decoration of their own. For now, the recently planted lawns and flower gardens were no more than brownish patches with hints of green. Once finished, the compound would house about a hundred Citizen scientists and engineers and a sizable military force as well, including a number of ghouloons, hence the place's relative isolation.

Transport to and from the city would be provided by aircars, both of local and Domination design, and concrete aprons were being poured for orbital-capable ships. One of the hangars was completed, a big blue brick to the right that was housing a captured Alkesh. Despite its unsophisticated exterior, the hangar was a shielded affair. Later, a local shield would be emplaced to protect the whole compound from aerial attack.

The facility was to house the joint Tollan-Draka research and reverse-engineering effort. It hadn't taken a lot of persuasion to convince the Curia, especially with a certain Citizen Vöhn doing the rounds of Tollan media outlets and playing his hero status to subtly push the Domination's agenda. But the best ambassadors were the ex-captives themselves, recounting their horrible captivity at the hands of the Jaffas and singing the praises of the courageous and strong Draka soldiers, eyes teary with gratitude. A spectacle which had said soldiers sniggering in private with the irony of it, although their fully enjoyed their status and the perks it afforded them, from free drinks to free sex. Having the Tollans bending over backwards to please them almost made up for not having serfs around.

**Dante Base, Complex B**

**Luna, Solar System**

So fast, Gwendolyn thought. One moment she was standing on the soil of an alien planet at the other side of the galaxy, the next she was stepping on the concrete floor of Dante Base with its featherlight sense of gravity and the familiar faint burnt gunpowder smell of moon dust oxydizing in the artificial atmosphere. The previous days had been hectic. She had to coordinate the afflux of Combine and Space Force engineers and scientists who had arrived through Nautona's stargate and immediately set about the captured Goa'uld starships in order to study their technology. She also had to act as the interface between them and their Tollan counterparts in orbit, which included telling some of those that no, this particular ship was destined to be the Drakas' exclusive playground and there were already others earmarked for joint research, thank you and don't make me kill you, all in diplomatic terms naturally.

Then a replacement had arrived, a Space Force headquarters type who had also handed her new orders, which were to return home as soon as convenient, which unofficially meant "have a bit of fun and sightseeing first, but no more than a few days". She chose to spend a couple of days on Tollania, where the brand new Draka embassy was busy settling into rented high rise offices with a view to kill for. This had not been necessary, she was told. Two of the captured Alkeshs were purchased by the Empire, and the agreement covering Tollan access to the Ha'tak's technology also came with a generous payment. Thus the initial year of rent was amply covered.

She quickly found just how much her own prize share amounted to. Not as much as Tetrarch Vöhn, who had become a very wealthy individual in Tollan terms, but still more than enough to pay for accomodation in the capital's most exclusive hotel. A top level suite, perched two kilometers above ground level with an unobstructed view down thanks to the transparent triple-ply walls (supplemented by a force field for added safety). It even came with dedicated staff for personalized service, which probaby wasn't supposed to cover everything Gwendolyn had used them for. But there had been no complaint at all.

Apart from an official appearance before the Curia, along with Vöhn and a couple other Citizens who had taken part in the space operations, she'd been left free to roam about. She was fairly certain that she had been under covert surveillance by the Imperial security outfits, which wasn't unexpected, but mostly she'd been subjected to the almost ridiculous interest of the Tollan-in-the-street crowd. Her distinctive Drakensis looks were quite recognizable, although wearing shades did eliminate the most obvious physical trait and afforded her a little more privacy. That, and a subtle (to comply with the standing orders from Archona) pheromonal cocktail to keep over-enthusiastic ferals away.

But for the most part, interacting with those particular ferals was fun. Especially when it came to playing little private jokes, shattering their usually modest and reserved facade.

A little grin came with the memories. The hotel staff had recommended some shopping places for her little souvenir hunt. All of them very upscale and exclusive as befitted the VIP she was. As a Citizen, and the daughter of a high-profile official in the Domination, she was used since childhood to upscale and exclusive treatment as the Tollans understood it - and beyond.

It had therefore felt utterly natural to set foot in that expensive designer boutique in Tollania's most decadent district. A staff of young females, sophisticated and obviously keen to look the part even if they couldn't afford the cheapest trinket on sale in all their lifetime, alert and eager under the professional eye of the older woman behind a counter. A quick glance, encompassing the place and its denizen. Jewels, sparkling and glittering in bright colors, dresses and outfits that were undoubtedly the pinnacle of Tollan fashion and accessories to match. Not so different from one of the fashionable design houses of Archona, all things considered, except the sales attendants weren't slaves here. She got glances in return, then barely restrained stares from the couple other patrons present, excited whispers Gwendolyn had not difficulty understanding. One of the free assistants propelled herself towards her with a practiced welcoming smile and bright eyes. Mutual glances of appraisal. The girl appeared to approve of Ingolfsson's current outfit, a local-style off-white dress with silver trimmings with a simple elegant cut, ankle-length but leaving her arms uncovered in a vaguely ancient Greece fashion. It was conservative and blended in the Tollan street - as much as a Drakensis could blend in.

"Greetings, noble lady" The foreign client seemed amused by the translated formula, although it was perfectly normal in the local setting. It also came with a stiff little bow of the head. "I'm Ilina at your service. Would you like to buy anything ?"

The Tollan girl felt the green eyes sweeping her form from top to bottom, as if her own tunic didn't exist and shivered involuntarily. A drawled answer came next, strange and foreign but unmistakenly amused.

"I'd love to buy _you_, pretty Ilina, but I suppose you're not one of the items on sale ?"

The attendant's blush was fierce on her pale cheeks. Her colleagues attempted to look busy to hide barely-restrained giggles. The woman behind the distant counter stretched her neck as discreetly as she could to try and hear the conversation.

"Aaaah, I'm not, noble lady" Ilina, to her credit, managed to keep a straight face and an even voice. It wasn't even the first time she had received that answer - in jest, usually, although with some patrons, the undertone was more serious. It was part of the game actually, even if nobody in the business consciously admitted it. For a girl like her, this job was the closest path to riches, if a wealthy client took a fancy to her person.

But right then, she had a customer to serve. And one of those famous alien soldiers too ! Wait till she could tell it to her friends after work.

She took her patented, let-me-show-you pose, feet slightly apart, back subtly arched, right arm horizontal against her chest to support her waving left hand, and began to politely enquire whether the lady was looking to buy something for herself or as a gift to someone else, and yes we can accomodate both wishes, do you have an idea already or should I walk you through our collection ?

As she and her patron settled into the routine, conversations resumed around them and Gwen allowed herself to eavesdrop. The other women were still talking about her, with slightly jealous undertones, which still tickled her vanity even then.

"This dress" she suddenly interrupted, pointing at a silk-like affair of deep reds and golds.

"A distinguished choice" her attendant piped up, perking up to the opportunity. "One of our most sought-after models, entirely hand-made from Dakrian snake-silk" she went on, her tone highlighting the perceived luxury of the thing.

In a society as advanced as the Empire, where automatic fabricators could realize almost any material design, a hand-made garment was a grand gesture of indulgence, not least because few people actually retained the know-how to sew clothing. And the fabric came through the stargate from a distant planet somewhere near the Hebridean system, which meant the traders would have charged through the nose even if snake-silk wasn't incredibly rare and difficult to procure. The Dakrian snake lived in deep subterranean galleries and secreted the silk to cover its eggs, once every local year. Like some of its Terran counterparts, it was also fantastically poisonous and aggressive when it had eggs to protect. The Dakrian people, to whom it was the only resource worth trading, used yound children - only they could physically fit inside the galleries - to go after the snakes and retrieve the silk. It was a great honour and a rite of passage to adulthood.

The fact that a third of them ever survived the attempt only made it that much honourable.

Ilina picked up a corner of the exposed garment, running her fingers through the rich material. "There is nothing quite like snake-silk. It's so light it feels like wearing nothing at all !" And it cost the equivalent of ten times her annual income, she didn't add, but the thought colored her voice with more than a little awe. It was a dashing, magnificient thing, Gwen acknowledged. But it obviously wasn't her size.

"If you like the design, may I suggest trying it in the virtual room ?" the helpful girl judiciously added, having recognized her guest's interest.

The virtual room laid beyond a short corridor lined with pictures and actual examples of the house's past designs, potted flowers and sitting benches. The room itself was octogonal in shape, white unadorned walls, floor and ceiling with a black circle at the center of the ground. Gwendolyn was invited to stand on the circle and Ilina entered a combination on a recessed keypad. Light dimmed, then the walls ceased to be featureless and white. Instead, they turned into so many artificial mirrors, reflecting Ingolfsson's silhouette wearing the red and gold dress, adjusted to her size and body shape. The pictures moved, faithfully mimicking every movement she made. It was mesmerizing… for the first seconds of marvelous novelty. Then she frowned. The synthetic picture wasn't perfect, the proportions were wrong somehow, subtly but noticeably enough.

Ilina made an apologetic face. "I'm sorry, the system can have trouble compensating for your current attire masking your body shape -" she paused, pondering whether she should ask her exotic guest to strip to her underwear as normal clients did. The young woman standing on the circle didn't allow her to go through with her deliberation. Having realized the source of the glitch on her own, she unclasped the silver shoulder fastener of her white dress and let it fall around her without the slightest affectation.

Ilina gasped mutely. The body just revealed before her didn't show any underwear. The virtual system had a much easier job now, and the dressed, synthetic dopplegangers resolved into flawless fidelity. Viewed so, the snake-silk garment fit to perfection, clinging and delineating the Drakensis' feminine curves, even emphasizing them and making the steel-hard body underneath look softer. The rich colors completed the dazzling effect.

"Not bad" Gwen muttered. Aloïs would love it. It even fit with both her hair colors, dyed and natural.

It was a sale, then. This aspect of things taken care of, her mind drifted to more immediate needs, and to the petrified Tollan brunette in the same room who had forgotten not to ogle. Ilina saw the naked body move to face her, a conquering smile, green eyes staring deep into her own. She suddenly felt warm and weak and moist as the room became saturated with arousal pheromones. Seconds later, the virtual display shut down as its logic was overwhelmed by the contradictory inputs.

There were curious stares when both females emerged out of the virtual room half an hour later, the Tollan's elaborate hairdress in ruins and hastily repaired, and her low-cut collar utterly unable to hide the hickeys blazing on the sides of her neck. She managed to complete the sale process, her voice noticeably huskier, saved from professional shame by the hefty figure on the final bill which drew a brilliant smile out of her director.

Yes, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson thought with relish as she was greeted by the sentries on duty, good memories indeed. And the Embassy staff would see to her Tollan couture dress' eventual delivery in a month's time.

Behind her, a floating palette glided silently out of the active wormhole. The Tollan automated light cargo holder would have to go back, unfortunately, once unladen. But here was home. As Gwendolyn headed toward the side exit and biocontrol checks, four uniformed serfs came from another, saluted and started to unload the voluminous luggage off the floating platform.

Home sweet home indeed.

**Aresopolis Command Base**

**Mare Serenitatis, Luna, Solar System**

The suborbital flight from Dante crater to the main Draka military base on Earth's moon took less time than the various checks Gwen had to submit to at her destination. There was another layer of biocontrol checks, the Domination being justifiably paranoid about Goa'uld takeover (not too likely, Gwen thought, but better safer than sorry) or biowarfare (another possibility, which would be ironic if it happened to the Race itself). And although the Drakenses ought to be reasonably immune to illnesses picked up on other worlds, their Old Race predecessors weren't. Then it was the classic and redundant security checks, DNA codes, iris-patterns, fingerprints, brainwave scans, each step more intrusive and annoying as she went through increased levels of security, until she was deemed clean and identified enough to meet the Space Force's top brass in a deeply buried conference room.

She had not expected to face Arch-Strategos Deirdre Schneider in person, along with a couple high-ranked officers she didn't know personally, standing behind the slab of mahogany table cutting across the length of the room. Her salute and coming to attention were entirely instinctive, and returned with relaxed formality.

"Please, Cohortarch, no need to act so stiffly here" Schneider gestured for her to sit in the closest chair, and followed her own suggestion, imitated by her acolytes. A moment of mutual observation, three distinguished representants of the Old Race gauging one of their purposefully designed heirs. Gwendolyn's eyes didn't waver. There was no challenge, only a sense of expectation. She doubted the highest ranked officer in the Domination would bother meeting her directly without a pretty good reason.

"Cohortarch Ingolfsson" the sixty-something woman behind the table introduced "these gentlemen are Strategos Langstrom from BuShips and Strategos Garner representing the Fleet's strategic planning board." Both nodded as she named them. Gwen digested the information. That was a lot of brass just for her, and their presence had to be significant. Hopes stirred in her chest.

"We are all quite busy these days, so I'll get straight to the point." Gwen resisted the urge to lick her lips. Her superior went on. "We didn't send you as a liaison with the Tollan Navy for no reason. Your performance in the Space Force was exemplary beforehand - a reason you were picked for this assignment - and our Tollan counterparts have praised your competence and dedication as well" she pointed to the printouts scattered in front of her. "In fact, they have done so for every officer we sent to them, which, coming from a service with a rather longer experience at space operations than us, means something." there was a shared look of satisfaction "I take it that you found the experience useful as well ?"

"Yes Ma'am, it was a precious opportunity to look at the Imperial Navy's procedures and tactics, which I think will be very relevant once we deploy warships based on similar technological principles"

Another satisfied look from the three high officers, evidently pleased with her response.

"Good reasoning, Cohortarch. Indeed, the ships we will be deploying in the future will force a radically different tactical thinking. And we have to start training our crews into this adjusted frame. Unfortunately, while the new generation of ships designed from the ground-up for FTL warfare is on the design stage, they won't arrive for a couple years at the earliest."

Ingolfsson raised an eyebrow as her superior paused for effect. "Ma'am, what about the Goa'uld ships we captured ?"

"They will undoubtedly bolster our current military standing, but we cannot rely on Goa'uld designs although we will definitely try to learn everything we can about their workings. besides, I was told that it would take the ha'taks four months at top sustained speed to make the journey from the Tollan sector to Sol. Even then, we will only recall one for the time being, the other will stay over Nautona for joint research" Schneider made a small moue. "I wish we didn't have to, but Archona's keen on establishing healthy working relations with those ferals… I see the necessity but it doesn't make it any less annoying" her opinion appeared to be shared by her colleagues, who nodded silently. Their underling remained blank-faced. She had found said ferals to be pleasant to mingle with, but whatever her own perceptions, the overarching goals of the Race were paramount. One day, the Tollans would meet the Yoke. Anything else couldn't be envisioned - suggesting so would be akin to treason, after all. But at least it didn't appear to be for the near-future.

"Anyway" Schneider went back on track and activated the room's main wall display. Lights dimmed automatically and everyone turned their gaze to the picture.

Ingolfsson's heart leaped in her chest. What the display showed was familiar to her, the cylindrical shape of an Imperator-class pulse-drive cruiser, the stenciled name on its primary hull identifying it as the DACS Starsword. A vessel she had briefly served on as Tactical Officer years ago. But it wasn't exactly the same ship, she realized. While its general shape and components were typical of a last-generation pulse-drive warship, the kind which had fought the Final War even with their compcores forcibly blown out, some details were off. She turned an interrogative eye towards her superior officer.

"Indeed, Cohortarch. It's not the old Starsword you knew - well not entirely. See, we made a few modifications…" A sideway glance and Strategos Langstrom took the cue without missing a beat.

"What you're looking at, Cohortarch, is the Domination's first indigenous FTL ship." He paused to let the notion sink in. "The Tesla Combine put an hyperdrive together following our… Goa'uld prisoner's theoretical pointers. Every component is home-built. This is our design, we know how and why it works. The drawback is, by Goa'uld standards it's a crude affair, slow and relatively inaccurate - but safe, we tested it in short-hops across the system. Not only that, but we also fitted shield emitters. Same as the hyperdrive, we designed and built them, but don't expect them to hold up against a ha'tak's firepower."

Drawbacks or not, Gwendolyn was mesmerized. "What about power generation, Sir ?"

"Compact helium three reactor with subspace heat dump, and a naquadah generator for hyperdrive operation. We retained the deployable solar panels for emergency use. STL propulsion is unchanged, we still have trouble getting our interial compensator design to work, err, reliably and we don't want the crew to turn into paste because of a sudden failure."

Gwen nodded in understanding, still in utter fascination, and Langstrom continued.

"And this ship has more teeth than anything we ever fielded before, although it's still outclassed by Tollan or Goa'uld designs. But we improved her lasers' rate of fire with more efficient cooling. Other than that, it retained railguns and X-ray laser bombs… and something we added" the picture changed, the live view of the Starsword disappeared and a synthetic tridimensional schematic appeared.

"Allow me to introduce the Star Arrow heavy ship-to-ship missile" he grinned with apparent glee. "High-impulse solid-propellant rocket motor with inertial assistance - yes, it works here because it's not supposed to work for long - providing _six hundred_ gees for twenty seconds which gives a terminal velocity of a hundred and seventeen kps. More importantly… it fields a four gigaton matter-annihilation warhead and you better not be in the immediate vicinity when it explodes."

"Sweet !"

"Your enthusiasm is commendable, Cohortarch, and rightly so, since you will command this baby." Ingolfsson's eyes shone as Schneider spoke again. "We have more experienced commanders, you see, but the commanders of our future FTL capable fleet will undoubtedly be in position to deal and interact with fer… foreign personnel in a smooth enough manner. Something us old types who grew up waiting for the Final War… aren't exactly the best equipped, mentally, to handle." She made a self-apologetic smile. "So you, Cohortarch Ingolfsson, will stand at the vanguard of this… new wave of explorers".

The newly appointed vanguard found the right words coming to her naturally.

"When do I start ?"

**Dante Base, Luna**

**April 1****st****, 2011**

Thomas Röhm, high ranking expert of the Domination's Science Directorate and thus in charge with the scientific aspects of the Stargate program, was currently red-faced. He and the Merarch had met in the lift on their way to the Ops Room, where they were going to monitor the first-dialing of a new gate address. With the so-called Tollan Campaign winding down, emphasis had swung back towards exploration of the stargate network, and they had a sizable backlog of untested addresses.

Both men had walked down the access corridor, the scientist prattling about the week's in-base news, before stopping at the heavy blast doors where the two sentries checked their identity. Routine procedure. Until, that is…

"Sir, I cannot allow you to proceed" the guard's voice was polite but firm.

Röhm had stared blankly for a second, then shaken himself.

"What ?" was all he found to say.

"You are contaminated by alien biological matter, Sir"

Staring goggle-eyed at the blank visor, the doctor's mind labored to make sense of the statement, until realization dawned on him. His hand went around and patted his back, found the "alien biological matter", and ripped it gingerly off his overcoat's tough fabric. The thing fell on the ground lazily as Röhm's gaze turned accusatorily towards Polignac's face, who was split with a mirthful grin.

"Got ya, doc !"

"Playing an April Fool prank with a dead Goa'uld symbiote is…" the civilian struggled to keep a disapproving tone "well that's not dignified !"

"It's not dignified to walk around with a dead Goa'uld glued on your back ?"

"How did you manage anyway...?"

Polignac sniggered happily.

"Well, Thomas, this just shows you should spend a little more time at the palestra working on your reflexes and situational awareness, and less in front of comp displays"

"Pffffft !"

The sentry bent and retrieved the blackish, floppy corpse. "I think the alien biological is under control, Sir." He did manage to keep a serious tone, to his credit, and his colleague typed in the access code, allowing the doors to open and the two men to pass through.

"I would have thought you New Race types would be above such childish behavior."

Anton shrugged, still grinning, as they stepped on the elevated mesh-floor platform dominating the Operations Center's quiet bustle.

"Why ? Laughing is good for the mind" He glanced at his second-in-command. "Besides, you're not the only one who got pranked"

"Oh ?"

"Alex managed to stick a paper fish on Jessica's back before she sent her to fetch breakfast this morning"

"And the poor wench didn't notice ?"

"Nah. She was still hammered by that Tollan brandy. Chrysos had to help her back - good thing he did, in retrospect. In her state she'd have dropped the trays for sure -"

"- and thus deserved a spanking" Röhm finished.

"Yeah. Well at least our lad Chrysos looked happy to see her."

Chuckles followed. Ancillary romance was a major source of the base's gossip.

Seriousness reasserted itself as the preparations for the dialing took place below, and in Complex B ten klicks down the rim. No maglev traffic was scheduled today and the embarkation hall was therefore pressurized, but deserted aside from the drone waiting obediently in front of the inactive ring.

Final checklist elements ticked by.

"Dialing sequence initiated" the senior operator announced. On the giant wallscreen, the stargate began to spin chevrons locking one by one.

"Connection established"

"We're getting electromagnetic radiation, low power, wideband. Looks like background noise"

"Probe on the way"

The mechanical spider crawled swiftly and entered the wormhole. Its mad dash across interstellar distances lasted a couple seconds.

"Probe emergence, telemetry link active"

Thousands of light-years away, the drone began to retransmit what its machine senses saw and heard.

"Wow."

The silvery low-light image panned across the main display window. A forest stretched in front of the distant stargate. But this forest wasn't made of trees. It was a forest of tall-looking metal spines and towers, an architecture every bit as alien to human mind as a beehive. Its proportions and dimensions, the cold fractal geometry of this skyline evoked an abstract, mathematical design intelligence, a mind that gave no thought to biological patterns. It was more than industrial, it was alien. Cold. Forbidding.

As the enthralled men of Dante Base watched, a bright flash stabbed through the displayed vista a fraction of a second before the drone's telemetry went dead. The display switched automatically back to the embarkation hall feed, just in time for the Ops Center crew to witness a flash of lightning shoot from the event horizon, something that ought to be impossible. The discharge hit one of the com-panels, frying it with an explosion of sparks.

"Shut the gate down !" Polignac barked and the serf operator slammed his hand on the red emergency disconnect button. Power and data flow cut off abruptly from the stargate, and the wormhole collapsed instantly.

"Report !"

Below the observation platform, serf technicians checked their consoles, monitored by Citizen engineer overseers. It took a minute for a coherent report to filter through and be collated by the senior gate engineer. During that time, an emergency response team swarmed in the gateroom to check on the damaged wall-mounted communication terminal and ensure against fire hazard.

"Sir, this is what we got" the engineer addressed Röhm and Polignac, reading out of his perscomp tablet "the probe was destroyed by an unknown energy weapon, as far as we could determine through telemetry and feedback radiation. But we have no idea just what came through the gate, it looked like lightning, but lightning should not be able to travel against an incoming wormhole !"

"What's the damage like ?"

"Com-panel's fried, electrical surge through its local loop, of course it's isolated by design from the other networks. We read voltage spikes on all the connected terminals though, but they're all returning full functionality, the surge protections have worked. But it's weird…"

"What's weird ?" Röhm prodded.

"There are overload cut-outs on that line, anything purely electrical would have triggered them"

"Just what are you implying here ?"

"Well… the cut-outs were triggered, but the… perturbation seemed to have jumped across the gaps, for lack of better words."

A moment passed as the commanders digested the information. Polignac was the first to react.

"I want a full inspection of that communication loop. Tear down every terminal and check every component."

"Sir, you think -"

"I think the Yank comp-plague taught us to be paranoid about data security. I'm not sure what this… surge was, but our probe was destroyed and I'm treating the whole thing as a hostile act."

"Yes Sir !" the engineer turned back and climbed down the mesh stairs to join his crew.

Polignac took a breath, and walked to the closest com terminal, one that belonged to a different loop than the compromised one. The system recognized his identity, and he entered his correspondant's callstring. The signal bounced through highly secure lines and finally reached its destination.

The Space Force logo dissolved into the face of a raven-haired woman, her strong and regular features barely altered by age lines.

"Schneider here - Polignac, what drove you to call me on my direct line ?"

"Ma'am, we may need a Type Fourteen"

"A _Hellstorm_ ?" her tone and expression became very serious. "If it's not a right-now life-or-death matter, why don't you start with a quick explanation of _why_ you'd need a _four gigaton_ warhead ?"

As the base's technical personnel swung into action and their commander explained the situation to his own superior, something stirred in the bowels of Complex A. Something that was neither pure energy nor matter, highly evolved and complex in its own fashion, yet entirely alien to the fleshy denizens who crowded the base.

It had no innate form or shape, but as it found resources to command, the thing evolved one.

Two levels above, a pair of serf technicians trudged along one of the complex' main corridors, one holding a maintenance perscomp and the other a toolcase. One of the teams dispatched to check on the compromised terminals scattered across the facility. They had already disconnected one of the electronic cases, packed it and handed it to a retrieval team with a wheel-mounted trolley. It wasn't a difficult task, the units were sturdy and designed to be plugged in and out easily.

"Okay, next one's, outside storage room six-cee.

"That's down two levels, we'll take the closest lift"

The pair headed to the end of the passage, and a swipe of an access card called the lift up after the system determined that yes, those serfs were allowed to use it. The doors slid open and they stepped into the elevator cabin, selecting their destination on the touch screen. A chime sounded and the mechanism began to move smoothly on magnetic rails.

"Six-cee, that's where they're storing all those electro-mechanical spares for the power armor suits, right ?"

"Yep. Normally, it's off-limit to us, but that terminal's outside anyway."

An instant later, the armored lift doors opened again in a corridor lit by low-intensity strips. The walls were rough concrete with a thin layer of pale yellow paint, the ubiquitous piping and cabling running on the ceiling and sides, all color-coded. Level six was predominantly a storage and service area, with few human traffic.

The technicians were observed by the security cameras as they walked down the passage, exchanging innocuous chit-chat that wouldn't get them into trouble with their controllers - the microphones equipping their duty uniforms were always on by design.

"Master, that's curious" another tech, up in the Ops room, motioned to the senior gate engineer "I'm reading a higher than normal power drain in storage room six-cee"

"How much higher ?"

"Umm, much higher Master, look at this !"

The Draka supervisor bent closer to the console and peered at the display. The schematics of the facility's electrical matrix were familiar, showing the flow of electrons along the main superconducting buses and their sub-section tributaries. Level 6 was indeed pulling a lot more power than it ought to. In fact, something in that glorified parts closet was apparently drawing several megawatts worth. That was a lot for standby lighting and ventilation, he thought. It might be a telemetry glitch, but considering the recent oddities…

"We got someone nearby ?"

"There should be, one of the wall-com's nearby..."

The Draka frowned and tapped a command, flashing his own badge over the console's ID reader. The system obeyed and a security feed window blossomed on the screen, showing the section of corridor where the two serfs presently walked, located by their implants. Another command and he was patched into their earbuds.

"Kramer here. Lads, are you seeing anything abnormal at your location ?"

The pair stopped, surprised by the sudden intrusion and gave each other a slightly larmed look.

"Not at the moment, Master… why ?"

"Something's odd with six-cee. I temporarily upgraded your security level, go there and check the room. I'm sending backup too"

Just what could cause such a power drain ? The fire alarm sensors were silent, and there was no temperature or pressure change. They should have put a camera in that room, he thought. But he didn't actually fear for the technicians' safety. He couldn't after all have foreseen what was sitting in room 6C.

He did watch as the serfs reached the section labeled 6C and the heavy door blocking access to the strangely-behaving storage room. One of them waved his badge over the sensor plaque next to the door, and the indicator light turned to green. The steel panel smoothly opened inwards on its servos, but the camera angle didn't allow to see much beyond the fact that it was dark. Which wasn't normal. Interior lights should turn on as the door unlocked.

The serfs bent forward, evidently trying to peer into the darkened space and its rows of neatly packaged spares for the variety of power actuators used in the armory.

The next second a blinding flash blanked out the display temporarily, until the image adjusted again. Both serf and Draka felt their jaw fall in shock.

The wall opposite the open door was blackened, scorched. Where the unfortunate techs had been standing were two coal statues, frozen in place and smoking, the heavy-duty fireproof uniform baked to a crisp and indistinguisable from the charred flesh. The fire alarm belatedly started to ring in the section.

"Holy Wotan's shit !"

Before they could recover from the unexpected sight, another flash blanked the display, this time for good. That particular camera was history but it's last frames showed an indistinct shape moving just short of the threshold.

In the suddenly silent room, the supervisor's yell fell like thunder.

"INTRUDER !"

The thing was ready. The last minutes had been well spent. While substandard to its original designers, the materials found had readily adapted to their new task, and the enemy's own power flux had fed the cobbled engine of destruction. It was ready to set on its way, to destroy and adapt and grow more powerful as it assimilated more refined matter. What had been a tiny seed had darted across the most promising path, overcome the few gaps and obstacles and found a quiet place where it could grow and learn. Grow it had. But the systems it had found were… obnoxious, as if designed to yield as little to invasive, probing entities like itself. Icy, static things, unmoving, etched in place, the little data inside them encrypted and senselessly fragmented.

Surely it should have proceeded differently when the carbon-based chemical constructs had intruded. The briefly-tasted aura of their electro-chemical information processes hinted at a higher and more coherent level of functionality. Well, more would probably be encountered and their careful deconstruction would certainly bring useful knowledge of how to terminate the threat to the Datahive.

Thus the destroyer drone set its improvised material body out into the enemy physical realm, the initial germ of compressed quantum energy-code coalescing into matter picofoam, from which nano-effectors had unfolded themselves like so many fractal flowers, repeating the process into the larger-scale macro-structure, the growth fueled by the enemy's own flowing energy and the enemy's own hardware, assimilated into the destroyer's form.

It recognized the function of the small electro-optical sensor outside its starting space and disabled it. Scans rapidly built a tridimensional plot of the surroundings, pinpointing the closest access to the rest of the facility. Neutrino traces tantalizing pointed to suitably high energy sources in the vicinity. Energy to grow and destroy.

As it reached line of sight of the vertical access shaft, the mechanical closure system activated and two more of the chemically-actuated constructs came into direct view, emitting mechanical pressure-wave signals. The destroyer briefly wondered about the method. It would obviously be useless in vacuum, its utility therefore dubious. Maybe it was just a byproduct of their energy conversion mode ? At least their direct analysis would provide some answers.

The constructs' immediate reaction to the destroyer's presence was an attempt to reverse vector, which showed their effective coordination of the jointed-lever motivators making up their displacement apparatus. A low-powered directed quantum pulse caused them to lose function and surrender to the ambient level of gravity.

Quickly, the destroyer moved closer to the fallen shapes and interfaced with their complex electro-chemical command node. It had to work fast. Vibration patterns warned of more incoming enemy cells.

Data started to coalesce into senseful order. It was utterly alien in experience, but the general data frameworks seemed to support the hypothesis that those constructs were essentially autonomous, yet acted in complex analog mutual interaction. The knowledge was precious in itself (a never-before encountered mode of distributed functionality !) but the destroyer's mission wasn't fundamental data acquisition. Those chemicals were part of the structure which had attacked the Datahive. They had to be destroyed.

A fleeting moment of confusion was caused by the arrival of new enemy cells. They followed an identical overall geometry as the first ones, but their exterior shell was made of hard inert minerals. Obviously a protective function, it classified them as aggressive response units, along with their semi-fused attachments. The hard carapace would be relatively insensitive, but the soft carbon and water compounds underneath were just as fragile.

A line of quantum lightning cut through the air and hit the first armored Drakensis, bypassing the cermet shell to expend its collapsed-state energy inside the flesh. Flash-carbonized inside his armor, the soldier's body continued forward out of inertia before collapsing, smoke seeping out of compromised armor joints.

A second one, then a third, suffered the same fate in the span of a second.

The destroyer was pleased with the effectiveness of its primary weapon. However, its energy reserve had been cut in half already. Although replenishing it would be possible shortly, it would be wise to conserve it until then. Fortunately, full incineration was obviously an excessive degree of force to deal with the enemy chemicals. A much reduced yield would amply incapacitate one beyond its self-repair ability.

The destroyer's efficiency calculus saved Decurion Rayner from becoming a charcoal-filled suit of infantry armor like the rest of her emergency response team, but her body was still flash-cooked. Her torso burst explosively as fluid-filled organs vapor-flashed, spraying geysers of steaming blood from cracks in her armor and her lifesign-monitors flatlined instantly.

More enemy response cells were detected seconds later, coming up from another passage behind the destroyer's starting position. It charged the quantum projector in anticipation but they did stop before coming in sight. Certainly the poor performance of their siblings must be causing their controlling intelligence to reassess the situation. Maybe they would bring in stronger models ?

Inside Ops, the atmosphere had just metaphorically dropped by several degrees. That thing, whatever it was, had just incinerated a reaction team in a blink. Including poor Rayner who had come back from the dead once already.

The shrill intruder alarm was ringing inside the whole complex and containment protocols were coming online, but not quickly enough. The intruder was truely machine-like in its reaction speed and specifically destroyed internal surveillance sensors as soon as they came within range of that damn weapon it was using. It had commandeered the elevator, bruteforcing the local command circuits and soldiers were shadowing it, keeping clear out of range of its incinerator beam, which fortunately appeared to be line of sight. The internal blast doors appeared to offer only token resistance, the thing was able to subvert the servocircuits in seconds. Not only that, but it was trying to access the data and power arrays running throughout the base. So far, the compsec measures held it in check, but assuming it came into direct physical contact with the compcore…

Polignac's mind churned, urgent danger focusing his Drakensis acumen. What did they know about this thing ? Not much, except that trying to fight it in the confined spaces of the facility was a losing proposition.

Decision. _When in doubt, use a bigger hammer_. His hand ripped off the red cover on a secluded wall panel, one that was labeled "EMERGENCY USE ONLY". Inside was a red handle next to a small screen that came online instantly, a blank prompt. The base commander typed an alphanumerical string on the provided keypad.

A line of text blinked, twice. _Authentication accepted_. Another prompt followed and Polignac grabbed Röhm's collar to bring him around facing the panel. The scientist made a little strangled noise and stared. "Do it ! We have no time !" An instant of hesitation - then the man shook his head as if to clear his mind, having just arrived to the same conclusions as the faster-thinking Drakensis, and started to enter his own memorized authentication string. As his fingers danced on the keypad, his commander's amplified voice boomed over the hubbub.

"ATTENTION ! THIS IS THE COMMANDER SPEAKING, EVACUATE THE FACILITY AT ONCE ! I REPEAT, EMERGENCY EVAC DRILL !"

All froze momentarily, interrupting whatever they were doing or saying, then the stillness was shattered in a barely-controlled rush to the exit. As serfs and citizens ran and leapt, taking full advantage of the reduced gravity to hasten their flight, Röhm straightened up and faced the Merarch. A new prompt was awaiting on the emergency measures terminal. Several options were listed, each referring to one of the contingency protocols installed during the base's construction. All were identified by a codeword whose meaning was only known to senior base staff and the Dominarch office.

Polignac entered the matching codeword -_ EBONY -_ for his chosen selection - _PINEWOOD_. The system returned an acceptance message, then a number filled the screen. _200._ A second later, it began to increment downwards. _199. 198._

By then Polignac was in full motion again. The stream of fleeing Ops personnel was almost gone from the room, the last out a couple of less fleet-footed serfs climbing the metal steps with a look of panic and fear on their faces. Not fast enough, Anton thought. He reached out and pulled the first one by the arm, using the momentum to thrust him towards the exit, then repeated the motion with the second one, ignoring their yells of discomfort as their joints were bent unceremoniously. A little pain was better than death.

Röhm was already out, unencumbered and running as fast as he could behind the rest. At least the regular drills meant everyone knew what to do and where to go. The bulk of the staff wore regular uniforms and would never have time to don pressure suits. They were running to the vehicle bays, where the first arrivals were already piling in the maglev capsules and wheeled lunar rovers, the cabins crammed with as many men and women as physically possible, the citizens directing the process and shoving frightened serfs like sardines into the hulls. It was necessary - those were trained, valuable servants, familiar and appreciated - but their upbringing made them too hesitant in circumstances like this.

The dozen soldiers in armor had abandoned their shadowing of the alien intruder and ran to the nearest airlock as well, not bothering with normal equalization procedure and blasting out as soon as the inner doors had closed. Out on the crater's surface, as gas and water vapour froze in the darkside chill, they started to run away in great loping strides, heedless of their limited oxygen supply to put as much distance between themselves and the facility.

Not all made it. A group of serfs led by their Citizen overseer on their way to the closest exit came across the destroyer as it emerged from behind a pair of blast doors. They had only the time to glimpse something so utterly alien to the shapes and structures a human brain took for granted, that their minds froze - just then they felt the touch of the intruder's mind, if it could be called a mind, stripping their brains like a cold scalpel - ant then nothing more as their constitutive matter, and the complex web of electro-chemical processes that defined their identity, was absorbed into it.

The Datahive destroyer dedicated a few milliseconds of its analytical processes to the decoding of the chemicals' datastates. It was easy now - they all shared the same underlying structure, and the variations in their analog data-descriptor sets were minimal. Accessing their most recent updates - a significant paradigm shift - their control node - several macro-time-units ago, which qualified as a short moment in their slow, chemical-reaction constrained operating speed - branching logics - those units were designed to value their own survival - logical conclusions, ranked in order of probability.

Increased power deep scans of the surrounding structure. Enemy chemical units were streaming out of the buried structure and the destroyer's senses could just glimpse the emptiness ouside through the thick electromagnetically-shielded exterior walls, that this burrow had be a mere part of a larger organized entity.

Following them was therefore the most useful course of action. Furthermore, their change of behavior had happened at the same time (accounting for their slower reaction speeds) as a major interruption in the surrounding electronic networks. The offensive data probes were reporting an almost total drop in network traffic, as if the structure-facility was preparing to shut down.

Inside the empty Operations Center, silent save for the mechanical whirrs of air conditioning and the loud insistant _whoop whoop_ of the emergency evacuation alarm, the fast progress of the intruder could be followed in negative as local systems and sensors failed or were cut from their lawful control lines. The commander was alone behind the closed blast doors, cut off from escape - but that wasn't the point. The intruder had been heading straight for the core sections - where Ops and the main Compcore room were lying. But the steady countdown was reaching its last phase - no more than ten seconds left now - the vehicle bays were open on the black expanse laying beyond their exit tunnels, maglev cars speeding out towards the interior of the crater and the distant lights of the shuttle terminals and landing pads, the slower rovers following on their oversized spun-sapphire wheels and kicking up lunar dust in lazy ballistic arcs lit by floodlights, a column of white-painted mechanical beetles hurrying before a deadly predator overtook them.

If Polignac's gambit failed, hopefully the Space Force would do the necessary to prevent that thing to go any further.

The countdown reached zero and several things happened in a very short timespan. Every powered door inside the complex opened at once and without warning, in effect negating the damage-containment layout of separated sections and air-tight compartments, while the external doors on every outside access path were locked tight. Dante Base's Alpha facility had just become a single and seamless atmospheric bubble, in complete opposition to standard safety practice. The only exceptions were the Operations Center where Polignac had manually engaged the access doors' locks and physically disconnected power to their actuators, and the Compcore room where a signal had just triggered the blasting charges, collapsing the access tunnel on itself and cutting every dataline to the base's central electronic brain. From now on, Complex A was down to local automation and manual circuits… but it didn't matter.

The Emergency Measures System was a self-contained collection of parts, hardened and totally isolated from the rest. Every sensitive installation in the Domination had one and provisions for installation and functionality was built-in in every place where things could happen that ought not to contaminate the exterior, and a variety of options were available to the designers to ensure complete neutralization of a threat, be it a highly virulent bioweapon or an invading military unit.

In three separate places inside the complex, mechanisms hidden behind the walls came to life. Valves opened and turbopumps whirred, and a pressurized mist of highly inflammable fluid forcibly mixed with the local air. It took just a few seconds until the mixture cloud reached the optimal size and ratio for a fuel-air explosion, and then the interior of the complex became hell.

Protected by the massive doors of the Ops room, Polignac nevertheless felt and heard the titanic tremor as hypersonic pressure blasts scoured the maze of tunnels that was Dante Base, crushing and incinerating everything inside down to the last bacteria. The thick cermet reinforced gates shuddered but held, and Anton found himself in near-complete darkness, broken only by the dim phosphorescence of emergency lightstrips glowing faintly in the total silence that followed the cleansing inferno.

Cut off from the rest of the world, the Merarch remained motionless clutching the railing, his mind fixated on a single thought - _I hope this worked._ Finally histraining and self-discipline assumed control again and he released his grip. Even if the entity had been destroyed, it would be hours, maybe more, before rescue could reach him through the ravaged tunnels and their scorching radiating heat. It felt like some of it was already seeping through the protective walls. It shouldn't become life-threatening, but it was still going to be uncomfortably hot inside. On the other hand, the emergency lockers contained the standard assortment of freeze-dried food, drinking water, chemical scrubbers and oxygen candles. His own survival wasn't at risk - not by environmental causes at least.

Alexandra Jourdain counted the numbers down in her head as the rover, the last one out of the now empty bay, sped from the exit tunnel at the base of the crater's huge rim. The tunnel was already invisible as a roll in the crater's floor hid it from view but the floodlit section of cliff-like rimwall was still brightly illuminated, a stain of light grey rock in a sea of darkness. The rover's own lights were illuminating the ground around it, rapidly shifting bumps and dips and sharp shadows flashing past.

The rover's interior was double-decked and spacious, as it was intended for days of travel with lifesupport endurance to match, but the present press of bodies wasn't a normal occurence. Citizens and serfs in various states of dress as they'd rushed out of quarters, and it was a testimony to the seriousness of the situation that nobody was even copping a feel on the three naked serf girls, nor simply ogling, as those not peering through the thick multi-ply windows were busy tending to the few scrapes and bruises sustained during the adrenaline-pumping race to safety.

A pair of Drakensis soldiers was also sitting grim-faced at the rear of the upper compartment, silent and cradling their rifles, their booted feet resting on the coffin-sized rectangular box laying on the floor to save space in the crowded vehicle. The red cross-and-caduceus of the Medical Corps was stenciled on its grey brushed metal top, and a small display was encrusted near the extremity closest to the soldiers and showing status data - with a temperature reading displayed in prominent blue characters. According to the number, the container's interior was barely over water's freezing point. An offshoot of the Domination's cryofreezing technology, the lifesupport box was designed only to stabilize grievously injured personnel until proper medical treatment could be provided. The artificial hibernation state it caused tremendously slowed the degradation of tissue even in case of total cardiac arrest, but it still wasn't supposed to keep alive someone who was already dead… as Decurion Rayner was.

There was a collective gasp from the serfs inside the rover as a geyser of flame burst noiselessly from a secondary hatch far behind, allowing the inferno inside the evacuated complex to vent itself into cold vacuum. And then something else flowed with it, arcing upwards before falling lazily back on the crater floor.

The decision to exit the structure had proven to be a wise one, yet it had been a very narrow escape. Exterior temperature and pressure had peaked to dangerously high levels, so high in fact that if the hatch hadn't let go, the Destroyer would have sustained irreversible damage. Even then its power reserve had been drained to resist the firestorm, and self-diagnostic routines warned of loss of function in most subsystems.

Fortunately, the sensory array was still able to complete a short ranged scan and found what the Destroyer needed - point sources of power and raw material to complete repairs. The sources, mechanical constructs containing the carbon-water units encountered earlier which could not operate in cold vacuum, were moving away on rotating motivator wheels and their speed could be matched and overtaken.

Neither the fleeing base personnel nor their alien pursuer could notice the tightbeam laser transmissions crisscrossing space above Dante crater, the coherent light pulses carrying real-time telemetry and instructions in a manner that could not be intercepted by the beings moving below. And the heavy weapon emplacements of the Rim rumbled to life.

"Oh God it's -" the lone cry was cut off by shock and surprise. The rover's passengers only caught a very brief glimpse of the thing chasing them, a disturbing collection of geometries and shades that didn't feel like they ought to exist in this human-centric world, and the maddening distant shape was then blotted from view as the heavy railguns and particle beams opened up on it. Energy beams and projectiles were effectively invisible without an atmosphere to betray their passage, but their effect was not. A wide section of crater floor literally erupted in explosive volcanic fashion, an eerily silent churning of dust and moonrock and lightning-like trails flashing into existence as ions and metal cut through the newly-suspended matter.

The storm lasted for what seemed like hours yet wasn't more than minutes, and the guns ceased firing, leaving a ragged swirling dust fog behind to slowly settle down on the deeply scarred crater floor.

Nothing emerged from it.

**Nautona, Tollan Empire**

**April 8****th****, 2011**

"How is she ?"

Polignac went straight to the point and the Citizen Corps doctor wasn't unduly surprised. People usually behaved that way when someone theyc ared for was in mortal danger. Good leaders too, when a subordinate was wounded in service.

They also knew when to sit back and let the professionals do their job, although in this case the professionals had merely relied on barely understood alien technology to do the heavy lifting.

The cryobox with Rayner's body inside was rushed to the still intact and operating Complex B right after the alien war machine was slain on the very marginal chance that her brain wasn't too damaged and her body could be revived by the sarcophagus in Tanith's former flagship. It had been a race against time from first to last, the rover racing perilously fast for its high center of gravity body, the stargate dialed manually while Jourdain and her team manhandled the heavy box along the accessways to the embarkation room, and then a maximum acceleration flight from the foreign planet's surface up to the orbiting Ha'tak.

The scientists and engineers clustered around the sarcophagus were told in very assertive tone to unplug their monitoring and scanning hardware and the damn thing better be still functional or else, and the cryobox was unsealed right next to its Goa'uld big brother. In addition to slowing tissue degradation, the cold had also… solidified the mess that was Rayner's body. Even then, her flash-cooked and rechilled insides had oozed like bloody slush while she was transferred from one box to the other, leaving a nasty trail of jellied gore on the pristine golden surface. The body, or more accurately the two loosely connected halves were deposited in the Goa'uld healing apparatus and the thing was left to operate its magic, the only human intervention consisting in wiping its exterior clean from the spilled Drakensis broth.

No one knew how long the process would take, if it even succeeded, and Polignac had been quite busy dealing with the alien foothold's aftermath.

Eventually, after a week of waiting, positive news had come to Luna. The sarcophagus had finally cracked open to reveal a Decurion Rayner that was alive and in one piece again, although her first reaction upon waking up in a Goa'uld sarcophagus _again_ had been to attack the witnesses. Fortunately, she had recognized her Draka siblings just in time, but the lone Tollan observer must have had the fright of his life.

The medical attendants succintly examined her and gave Tetrarch Jourdain the go-ahead to fly her comrade down to the so-called Friendship Base in the Satrian countryside, where more complete medical facilities were available. Her shuttle had landed a half-hour before Polignac himself stepped through the locally-emplaced stargate and was greeted by the chief physician, a fifty-something Old Race Draka whose accent sounded East-Asian, Indochina province maybe.

"Well, Merarch, she's talking and breathing, at any rate. As to how well that magical alien box repaired her… she looks just fine physically, and she seems to be the same old Ann Rayner in her head, although she doesn't remember the events that led to her… well, death."

"Amnesia ?" The single-word question came out more sharply than Anton intended.

"Short-term memory wipe seems it, yeah. I'm not too surprised, really." The doctor's tone and body language were the same as used by doctors since time immemorial to defuse the nervousness of patients' relatives. "There had to be some cellular decay, only slowed by cold and her Drakensis survival mods, and therefore loss of information, starting with the most recent ones. It sticks quite well with our corpus of experience on emergency trauma."

Anton was well-versed in the theory and practice of emergency medical care and the doctor's explanation made sense. Compared to every other body part, the brain had to be tricky to repair even by the miraculously advanced Goa'uld technology. Cells and tissue could be regrown or rebuilt, but the intricate network of delicate information stored in neurons, once lost, was gone forever. Losing a mere few days worth of memories was more than fair trade in his opinion, compared to permanent death.

"All right" his immediate concerns mollified by the doctor's report, Anton continued in a more serene tone "can I see her then ?"

"I don't see why not. Tell you what, Merarch, why don't you wait a couple minutes in the gardens and I'll send her to meet you there. I'm certain she will relish some fresh air after all she went through"

Anton recognized the suggestion as more doctor's orders. They were probably finishing their poking and prodding inside the med bay and wouldn't want him intruding. The friendly but firm attitude of his interlocutor as a clear sign of that. He shrugged quietly.

"Thank you Doc, I'll do that."

The garden was more like a triangular courtyard squeezed between three of the finished buildings, two of which were dedicated to research behind polarized windows and sensor-shielded walls, the third forming the smallest side of the triangle and housing the mess hall and attached dependencies, its staff made up of Tollan personnel as there was a strict "no-serfs outside Sol and Abydos" policy. In typical Draka and Tollan fashion (something the two cultures appeared to agree on) the empty space was allocated to plantlife. The recently-planted grass and flower beds were still barely registering as tiny green stalks on dark-brown humus, and the young trees were similarly thin, no ticker than the metallic silver supporting stakes. Stakes that actively monitored the plant and its soil, as the eco-conscious Drakas had learnt with great interest, to ensure optimal care for the developing tree. The Conservancy Directorate had already contacted the Tollan manufacturer, and the Landholder League was interested as well. That particular piece of Tollan ingenuity was well positioned to disseminate itself in plantations all over the Domination, either in its native form or an adapted version taking advantage of the Draka's even more refined biotech.

In any case, the infant garden was still pleasant to be in and Anton allowed himself to relax on a provided bench - another local fixture, an all-weather adaptive-foam shell on a lightweight stainless alloy frame. It certainly beat a wooden bench as far as comfort went. In fact, it felt positively decadent. Another future import, undoubtedly. The construction noises coming from beyond were subdued by attenuation fields and nobody else walked into the garden, although Anton's keen senses could pick up the muted hints bearing witness to the human activity inside the buildings.

The place was peaceful as intended and Anton was sorely tempted to doze off. He had barely slept in the past week and even his Drakensis physiology had to take a break sometime. Before he could answer the question, the sound of a door sliding with a faint pneumatic hiss recalled him to full awareness. Just as he expected, it was Rayner, her distinctive flaming hair shorter than before, no more than neck-length and spilling freely to frame her high cheekbones. Her blue eyes met Anton's green ones and locked in joyous recognition. Her lips curled into a genuine smile just as his did, and she hurried her step towards the bench, light white slippers beating the gravel path with soft crunching sounds. She still wore a patient's gown, nothing more than two white paper rectangles loosely connected by a pair of strings. She wasn't going to win any modesty contest and if any Tollan happened to look in the garden right now he would certainly get a nice glimpse of her athletic limbs and fit body. Her skin showed her original tone, right out of the shop before any Drakensis accelerated tan, close to alabaster white, highlighted only by the blue lines of subcutaneous blood vessels.

It made for a perfect entry quip, Anton found as he stood up to greet her.

"You need to get in the sun more, Annie-girl !" He grinned wide and brotherly, extending his right arm for the traditional Draka salute, and the resurrected woman clasped it in answer. Both hands squeezed, hers firmer, almost tense, and then she pulled him into a tight embrace. Seconds went by as they stood chest to chest and cheek to cheek, wordlessly, the simple physical contact and scent sharing telling more than words could. Anton found himself patting her back gently and spoke again, softly.

"I guess it sucks to die."

The woman clutching his back made a short sharp noise, half dejected laugh and half grunt. Unseen by him, her eyes hardened for a brief moment, but he sensed a sudden alteration of her scent, subtle among her flood of relief and happiness pheromones but unmistakable. A small tang of fear, that only lasted a minute instant. He frowned imperceptibly.

"For a moment I thought I was back in Bar'shan's palace, I… well, the torture, it came back to my mind and…" she took a sharp breath and steeled herself, then unlatched her arms and took a little step back to face Anton.

"I understand" he kept a hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly, then let go and gestured towards the bench. "I'm glad to see you alive and well". He sat again, and watched her do the same. The motion bent the paper gown, uncovering the side of her breast and Polignac's gaze flickered down. "You look as gorgeous as ever, though" he quipped and got a chuckle in return.

"Yeah, well, I think Alexandra misses you more, she told me a week without release was starting to drive her mad to the point where she'd rape some poor random Tollan" she laughed. "You'd better do something about it !"

"All right, I will, once I'm sure you're all well."

She looked at him, sensing his deeply-rooted concern. It was altogether too weird, twice she had come back from the dead on him. As a commander, he had the right to be unsettled. As a friend, his care was heart-felt. She let her fingers brush his side and the fabric of his casual uniform, then readjusted the front of her slacks to hide the pink nipple that was proudly perking up. It seemed that sarcophagus therapy also recharged libido as far as her experience went, or maybe it was just the normal aftereffect of having cheated death - which her past life in the Force certainly supported.

"I'm fine, really" it felt disturbingly as if she was trying to persuade herself, but she smiled gamely "the docs told me all my organs are the right size and shape and I only suffered short-term amnesia, not unsurprising in my case. I'm just, well… adjusting to the thought that I died and came back to life, _again._" She cocked her head and made a little go-on gesture. "Why don't you tell me what happened after I died ? They only told me the general story up there."

Anton nodded and crossed his arms.

"Well, after you died -"

"Eh" Ann's eyes widened "my team, nobody told me about them -"

"Sorry, they didn't make it" he shook his head sadly. "You were the only one in a… retrievable state."

"Oh." Anton saw her dejected look and went on to take her mind off her fallen men.

"I was saying, then, the intruder started to wreak merry havoc inside the complex and the isolation measures weren't able to hold it in place…" The redhead woman listened raptly as her commander narrated the destruction of Complex A and the final stand inside the Rim. Her nostrils flared savagely at the mention of the intruder's death through massively superior firepower.

"…two hours later we had the spare gatedialer installed in the Embarkation room and the shuttle sent by Schneider was down on a landing pad with the Type Fourteen on board. We got it in front of the gate, prepped it and then dialed out to that damn machine world, just long enough to push the warhead into the wormhole."

"And ?"

"The event horizon flashed white and vanished."

"Oh." That sounded pretty anticlimactic. Polignac saw his subordinate's disappointment.

"Well, we tried to dial again five minutes later and couldn't. We're assuming the far gate was destroyed along with a large chunk of country around it."

"Good for the fuckers."

"And Castle Tarleton marked that particular planet for later reconnaissance whenever we start sending FTL ships on interplanetary missions. They're very keen on erasing that threat from existence for good."

His grin was hungry.

"Let em eat cee-fractional rocks !"

A short shared laughter, and he pinched Rayner's naked thigh. "Okay, and I came to tell you in person -" he paused and stared straight in her eyes, his expression business-like, "after your recent experiences, I think you qualify for an extended leave" he raised his hand palm outwards to prevent her from interrupting "and you're not allowed to say no. Actually, we won't be doing much outbound exploration in the near future with half the base burnt to a crisp. The engineers told me it would take at least five months to rebuild, many sections have stress fissures and need to be entirely resheathed. So… yes, you can and will take a vacation."

He waved his arm around. "Look, why don't you spend some time touring Tollan-country ? Nice pleasant worlds as far as I've seen," his mouth split in a wide grin "and the locals absolutely love us, would you believe that !".

Rayner chuckled and nodded slowly.

"Well, it seems like I don't have a choice anyway."

"Good girl ! You have fun and get any post-resurrection stress out of your system. I'll be waiting for you in a month's time at the earliest. That's an order !"

She smiled gamely. "Yes, Sir !"

_Two days later_

It was rather ironic, Rayner thought, that she was blissfully idle when it seemed that everyone else on this world was busy in some way or another. It also seemed ironic that she found herself brooding about her death even though she was alive and whole, while many others mourned dead ones who'd stayed so. After the doctors were satisfied with her lively condition and allowed her (a bit reluctantly, for they clearly would have loved to keep her under the microscope for longer) out of their care, she had found herself wanting of something to do.

Returning at once to the comfortably familiar routine of military life was forbidden by Merarch orders. The Solar System was familiar ground, and anyway… the local restrictions and shortages weren't so appealing. There was Abydos, she could go there and see Anise at the plantation. At least the wench had been out of Dante Base when the intruder had attacked. Smart and gifted with common sense, as her mistress had discovered, and trusted to oversee the groundwork on the domain she was creating on Abydos Southern Province, in the temperate regions. The girl wasn't alone though, a cousin of Rayner's was settling there as well and she trusted him to watch over her and the rest of the serfs. So far things were going well and Anise was taking her mission with enthusiasm. She hadn't mentioned the dreams again in her messages.

No, she wasn't going to Abydos yet. The idea didn't seem to appeal much for some reason.

Still, it meant Rayner was alone at the other end of the universe. A bit of an exaggeration, she scolded herself. She was not the only Draka out there. And it wasn't the other end of the universe, just a long way out in the Milky Way. And it was true that her race was popular among the folks here. A thought that was fantastically weird. Yet the Nautonans viewed the Drakas as allies, liberators, heroes. They didn't know the whole truth, admittedly, but it didn't make the whole experience any less bizarre.

She had flown to Satria the day before, borrowing one of Friendship Base's (ha ! irony striking again in the joint research facility's yet-unofficial name) Tollan aircars. The city was still showing the scars of its brief Goa'uld occupation, although the speed at which Tollan engineering was mending those was remarkable. Those scars in the mind of its denizens, on the other hand, would take longer to mend, and they ran deep even though they were invisible at first glance. There was a sense of loss and underlying sorrow in the air, in the eyes that didn't stay quite steady, as if unconsciously on the lookout for the dreaded sight of a descending staff butt. She'd heard that some survivors from the slave marches were nearly catatonic, hidden from view in off-world healing centers where Tollan mentalists could quietly work on repairing their broken minds.

_And they're not even under the Yoke, _Rayner had reflected.

Her trip had an immediate goal though. Her personal belongings had gone to ash in Dante Alpha's self-inflicted destruction, and she needed new clothing among other things. She'd gone in a borrowed Space Force uniform, blank and rankless and not quite her size as it was a male model. Instead of outlining her physique it hung rather limply on her and she had to tighten the fasteners to their maximum in order to prevent the trousers from slipping. She had studiously avoided to check her temporary outfit in a mirror, but some friendly quips at the base had told her the essentials.

Fortunately, once out among the urbane folks of Satria, the ill-fitting uniform became a shining beacon attracting barely concealed awed stares in the time it took her to cross the short distance from the landing pad to the boutique complex she'd been helpfully referred to. The reasons became obvious as she skimmed the rooftops on the way : it looked like the less-vandalized one in the upmarket commercial district.

She had been welcomed as a queen by the owners, who had later insisted togive her a massive rebate. And she'd exited the boutiques two hours later much better looking in her opinion, in civilian clothes that albeit a little too sober, were still complementing her physique rather than deforming it.

She still needed a fuck. Unfortunately, while in town she didn't dare attract too much attention to her race's hidden abilities by screaming "SEX ME NOW, ANYONE ?" in big pheromonal letters. And somehow it had seemed wrong to basically trick someone into it. That was something she had never felt any qualms doing before, and she had almost unconsciously relegated that unconventional thought to the back of her mind.

Anyway, she would need to move soon. While functional and clean, the temporary prefabricated quarters on-base weren't a place she wanted to spend her whole leave in.

And as much as Nautona was a beautiful, near pristine world, the current mood overall wasn't exactly about fun and games, with the civilian population busy repairing their wounds, and the Tollan military swarming about to prevent another attack, as unlikely as it was for the time being.

All that ruminating (carefully avoiding memories of her past torture, which were ever-skimming under the surface of her consciousness since her resurrection) didn't prevent the Decurion from luxuriating in her current setting. After all, there was only so much fretting one could do when sitting in a natural hot bath. The small thermal pools were nature-made, filled by mineral-laden water heated by deep magma under the hills - which were themselves ancient eroded volcanoes, long-dormant according to the Tollans. The stone was smoothed by millenias of water erosion and decades of human skin rubbing against the natural benches, as the place used to be a popular outing for Satrian urbanites. So far Rayner had been alone, and according to the other Drakas on the base, nobody else had come around even though the hot springs were clearly outside the restricted military area. The walk up was rather steep too, twelve kilometers along a winding path that was showing signs of neglect until a layer knife had unceremoniously cleared encroaching branches and tall herbs. For a Draka, it was barely a warming-up exercise, but it nevertheless felt good and the scenery was pleasantly bucolic in the season. There were even sweet acidic berries to be picked. All in all it was just what the Decurion needed.

She was sitting lazily with warm water up to her neck, eyes closed and listening to the murmur of the spring flowing out of a crack in the rock a short distance behind, and the little stream feeding the pool from the source. The rustle of leaves and peaceful animal life calls completed the sensory picture with the tang of minerally-charged water and the vegetal fragrances of the surrounding trees. A proverbial oasis of tranquility.

Therefore Drakensis ear and nose had no trouble picking up the pair of feral humans approaching her location long before they came into view of the pool which was their destination.

They were humans, that was clear from their scent. Young, not much older than teenagers, clean aromas of young musk and perfumed soap. Tollans. They didn't exude the same testosterone tang as Drakas who spent all their life training and shaping their body for peak-human performance. But healthy specimen nonetheless, one of the sickly sweet rotting smells of disease. And it was a couple. A male and a female.

Her senses perked up in anticipation. The first flushing wavelets of potential arousal. She sat still, the water undisturbed, and consciously adjusted her own free-flowing scent to a moderate, almost neutral, mix and level.

Minutes ticked by as the stimuli came closer to the pool and its protective thickets of vegetation and rocky moss-eaten outcroppings.

They appeared, finally, past the last bend and out of the shadowed path into the scattered rays of mid-afternoon sunlight. The young man walked in front of the girl, and their showed such a strikingly well-matched pair that they could have been brother and sister. Blonde hair and fair skin, blue eyes - his a more greyish hue, hers an opale blue - she was a head below him, both on the tallish side for their sex. They were both clad in light outdoor garments in bright primary colors, which rather contrasted with Rayner's knowledge of Tollan general fashion tastes so far, and sensible thick-soled boots. Small backpacks completed their outfits. It was clear that they were local youth on a nature excursion, familiar enough with each other that they didn't need to fill up the silence with small talk, or so Rayner assumed. It still left the matter of whether they were a couple of lovers or merely brethren. Whichever the case, though, their looks were more than attractive, the girl a true beauty and the boy also showed neat delicate features - more like a servus than a Draka, for sure, and his body, while fit-looking, didn't seem bulky or Janissary-like.

In the Domination they would qualify as a high-price pleasure pair. The water-soaked Draka woman felt eager to make their acquaintance. And she would, for they'd surely spot her as soon as they took their eyes off the path's bumps and dips and set their gaze on the welcoming pool. What would their reaction be, she longed to discover it. After the surprise, how would they react to her presence ? Would they be scared or awed or repelled - she shook herself mentally. _Repelled ?_ How did such a preposterous notion even came to her ? She was New Race for Wotan's sake ! She made humans do her bidding, her race was designed to hold mastery over mere _homo sapiens_. That one could be repelled by her, without her consciously allowing that reaction, provoking it even, was materially inconceivable. Why had the fear of it been allowed to cross her mind, there was no…

Her brief self-scrutiny was cut short, to her unadmitted relief, as the couple finally spotted her.

The young man froze in place, causing his companion to almost bump on his back, and then she saw the cause of it. Surprise painted on their face, mouth slightly agape, the thoughts in their heads almost comically obvious to the relaxing soldier. After walking or hours in the wilderness to reach this secluded little paradise, they must have expected to have the place for themselves. Alone. Without some strange woman already dipping in the warm natural bath.

Their surprise turned to curiosity immediately mixed with embarrassment. Maybe the sight of Rayner's neatly folded clothes - the little of it - and subsequent realization that she must be quite naked had stilted them, too. Their emotions were an open book for the Drakensis to read, she sensed their sudden discomfort and - she frowned inwardly - a spike of irrational fear that wasn't due to her actively doing anything.

They didn't appear to know how to react and she suddenly became afraid that they would turn and run away, leaving her alone there. What the hell, she wasn't going to let that happen.

Her extended right hand broke the pool's surface, swiftly but smoothly and deliberately unthreateningly and she composed her most innocuous smile. Her voice, poised and clear, loud enough to be understood without hindrance, but not so that it would appear like shouting at them. She was deliberately projecting a welcoming and unintimidating image for them, stepping back on the natural assertion of dominance - she thought it was easier than expected.

"Greetings there !" It was the best thing she came up with. It appeared to be enough to break the unexpected visitors out of their panicky spell and cause them keep breathing.

They even managed a reply in a not-too-squeaky voice.

"Uh uuh sorry, we didn't expect to meet anybody here" it was the male who spoke.

Rayner forced herself not to roll her eyes at the plainly obvious statement. The situation was becoming amusing.

"We didn't want to intrude or surprise you" he added.

"Oh, don't worry about that" there was never any risk of it, she didn't add and waved her hand casually. "I heard you approaching, you know"

"Oh, er, good then" the boy's unease seemed mollified. His companion, who hadn't said anything until then, put her hand on his shoulder and stretched her neck to whisper something close to his ear, keeping the immerged woman in the corner of her vision. If she wanted not to be overheard, it was for naught, Rayner thought mirthfully.

"_Cenor, we shouldn't disturb her, she's one of them, let's find another pool"_

Hassle ? Well her intentions were polite enough, but Ann didn't want her and, Cenor was his name then, to leave her alone. She found herself relishing their presence.

"You don't !" she interjected hastily as the two of them fiddled undecidedly "I mean, you don't bother me with your presence" she added amicably. "The other pools aren't as nice and there's more than enough room in for the three of us."

They were still hesitating.

"Really, don't make me come out and drag you forcibly !" Rayner said in a humorous tone, but she saw them tense instantly, reflexively. There was fear there, her sentence even intended as innocuous and joking had triggered a reaction in both of them. It was fear, she smelled it - but not of her. It was something else, a memory she had awokened, she realized. _Uh oh. Damn, shouldn't have said that._ She quickly released a burst of calming pheromones to support her calming words next.

"Okay, I see that you probably had some unpleasant experiences in the recent past, you two. Well, so did I." she told in a placating voice. She could alread see her chemical spell work on them. "Maybe it would be good to relax and, perhaps, talk about it ? Talking's good to deal with that kind of thing, I was told. While hot water takes care of the soreness of the body." She made little waves with her hand under the surface to illustrate her words.

The pair looked at each other for an instant, pondering, the girl made little nod, a little nervously still, but she seemed to agree with the idea at least.

They still felt self-conscious about something Rayner understood at once. She spoke again cheerfully.

"I won't watch you as you undress. Look, I'm turning around. Just take your clothes off and dip in, all right ?" She added gesture to words and made a deliberate show of sliding forward of her stony underwater bench so she could face the other direction. In the motion, she allowed herself to rise a few centimeters, innocently looking enough and allow the top of her breasts to show out of the obscuring water surface as she made an about turn. She was feeling horny - but she didn't want it to show it in her behavior too much. Just a little flirtiness, she reasoned, and rationalized her admittedly un-Drakaish reserve as making allowance for the locals' collective trauma and officially-endorsed need to act nice and sensitive - without delving too much into self-analysis.

She was distracted from the distracting musings by the soft rustle of clothes being discarded and skin rubbing against skin and forced herself to clamp down on the answering contractions in her nether regions. A moment later, she heard them enter the pool and felt the ripples in the disturbed water against the skin of her back.

"Oooh this feels good" It was the young girl's voice. A male sigh echoed her well-being. Ann Rayner took it as a hint she could turn again and face the newcomers. She didn't ogle. Her enhanced sight and perception was enough to detail them at a glance. The side of the pool they had just entered was shallower and they weren't as deeply immerged as she was. Barely chest-level in fact. Her gaze took in their youthful bodies and her lust was rekindled. He was showing an Adonis' build and smooth golden-skinned chest. His companion - they had to be lovers, the way they stood and their body language together - was slim as well, soft-skinned, pleasantly proportioned.

There were bred _servi_ back on Earth that weren't as pretty as those two. Good genetics certainly, the Draka mind calculated out of habit. Certainly they were just what she need to release her sexual tension, weren't they ?

Yet she was guarded - not exactly guarded… something was preventing her from simply treating them as she ought, as she would have done in the past without an afterthought. And she didn't want to dwell too much on that feeling. She'd rather believe - convince herself - that she was simply allowing for circumstances. Yes, that was it, had to.

Maybe it was the way these young humans, pretty, naked and vulnerable as they were, reminded herself of something, someone. She peered at them, their faces and especially their eyes. Inhaled their scent whole, breaking its fabric up into separate emotion threads.

She found it.

Barely hidden under the facade. The fear. The pain. The shame. The little rift, precariously covered by a layer of fake paint that was dangerously flaking. The small hard kernel of broken sanity underneath the coping appearance, that scar that would never leave again. The fracture betwen the "before" and the "after".

She realized who else she was staring at in those young Tollan beings. Deep down, she was staring at her own anguished mind.

She resisted the urge to shook her head in frantic denegation. It simply shouldn't be possible, she a Drakensis, one of the New Race to dominate the rest of the Creation as they creators and forefathers had intended, to feel what she was finding inside her exposed mind. The little smudge of fear, anxiety, dread, that wasn't clearly defined or aimed, at the core of her psyche.

Her kind had been hardwired to prevent that.

And this protection had been stripped away.

That realization was even more terrifying.

She slowly became aware that she was staring blankly at the water in front of her, that her mouth was half-gaping and that she was feeling a wetness on her face that had nothing to do with the hot water she was soaking in.

It was as if a barrier had just come down and a huge flood of repressed emotions were pouring through.

Ann Rayner, ranked Decurion in the Domination of the Draka's Citizen Force, began to cry quietly.

"Cenor, she's crying !" The young Tollan whispered, keeping her gaze on the mysterious woman who had just as mysteriously burst in tears.

"I see that !" he breathed back. _I should do something_, the thought flashed in his mind. Do something. That hadn't worked so well the last time. Anger and shame rushed back with the memories. The pain, both physical and spiritual. Being powerless to save his loved one, the most precious being in his existence, from the brutal degradation at the hands of Tanith's lust-crazed Jaffas. Being forced to watch them as they violated Natylis repeatedly, and then bite back screams of pain and humiliation as they raped him on the floor in her presence. The hate. Hate against his tormentors, hate against himself and his impotent weakness. Failing her, failing to protect her when she needed it most. The self-loathing had been eating him constantly since their liberation, but at least the hate had kept him alive during the backbreaking marches without food and drink, allowing him to support her in their shared ordeal.

Finally after days of living nightmare they had crossed the stargate's threshold again and found behind, not more leering and beating, but home and safety with those strange and awe-inspiring soldiers, those who had struck swiftly and decisively in the heart of Tanith's own empire. They kept their distance, usually faceless under their combat helmets, distant inspiring figures of strength. Stories, speculations and rumors about them were flowing, such as how they had daringly boarded Tanith's flagship and captured him, only freeing him in exchange for the Tollan captives' liberation. As regrettable as his survival was, nobody was complaining about the deal, unpredicted as it had been.

_Do something !_ the little voice snarled in Cenor's head. _Do something, there's no Jaffa to stop you ! Are you going to be such a useless weakling forever ?_

He almost snarled aloud, but managed to control himself enough that his sudden surge of disgust manifested itself as a self-directed sneer, twisting his features for the time of a heartbeat. And he found himself moving - not too quickly, he didn't want to startle the woman - followed a step later by Natylis.

So deep was Rayner's temporary loss of control that she didn't notice the couple moving in her direction with looks of concern and compassion. They were close enough to touch her when she registered their near presence, and raised her head between heavy sobs. She saw them, reaching, recognized they understood her condition, harbored a similar grief in their hearts. The impulse to lash out, tear apart the ferals who had witnessed her shaming state of weakness and displayed the nerve to think that somehow the common grief made them peers, equal enough to touch her as if their inferior touch could be allowed to mar her, reared its ugly head in the depths of her mind only to drown on the spot, extinguished by her newly-acquired humaneness.

She felt gentle fingers press lightly on her shoulders, two bodies closing on each side, displacing the water between them. Understanding eyes, devoid of malice, questing for her attention, eager to distract her from her present disconsolate state. She answered their gaze, focusing through her veil of tears. On impulse, she reached out, almost gingerly, and pulled back, one surprised young Tollan in each arm. The girl squealed as she found herself nearly crushed against the Drakensis' chest and Rayner precipitously released some pressure, remembering her superior strength with embarrassment at her awkwardness.

She held them in a tight embrace against her, their soft bodies against her steel-carved physique, relishing the simple human contact, without a single word. Eventually, she felt them squeeze back, wrapping their arms around her shoulders too.

Unmoving, skin against skin in warm soothing water, the unlikely trio lingered in a silent communion of souls. Long minutes streamed past, the Tollans' empathy unwittingly fed back by the pheromonal taste of their Drakensis companion. There was nothing dominant in those any more, just the desperate need to be comforted and loved and they answered it unconsciously.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Ann Rayner's tears ceased and her mind emerged from the dark pit it had sank in. She blinked, twice, to focus, and wiped the accumulated grit under her eyes, rinsing her eyes. She relaxed her grip on the couple, sniffed a last time, and conjured a weak smile looking at them in turn. Words left her mouth in a low husky voice.

"Thank you. Both of you..." It felt strange, telling that to a pair of… normals. But heartfelt, nonetheless. _And now you should kill them,_ a wicked hatefilled little voice echoed deep in her head. Ann found that she hated that voice, what it meant, what it wanted. So what if two ferals had seen her weak and crying. They knew what it felt like, they knew there was nothing wrong in feeling pain. They didn't judge her. They reached toward her, to comfort her, not to point and ridicule. They had acted like kindred souls.

She knew that no Draka ought to feel that way. She knew that, not so long ago, she would have considered such a scene with utter revulsion.

And she didn't care. She felt whole even though something had been removed from her. She felt… herself. Not a construct, designed to behave and act in a predestined way.

She realized her conduct was at complete odds with her upbringing and taught values. Was she a traitor to her people ?

The Draka were her people, her race. She didn't want to betray them. She saw the terrible purity of their purpose and the magnitude of their accomplishments. And yet she, the Drakensis soldier, didn't want to dominate and subjugate anymore. She still understood the cold necessities of the Domination, she knew her duty to serve her Race and her State. She was still ready to wield arms against those who would destroy her people.

But she couldn't wield the bullwhip any more.

At least she didn't have to, as long as she stayed out of the Domination. Bred _servi_ she could deal with, she felt. They were designed to be pliable, to fit in programmed symbiosis with her own species. They never knew freedom and didn't miss it. They slotted under the Yoke naturally, painlessly. They relished it, in a sense.

But she could no longer bend a resisting human mind to her Will. That was a frightening discovery. And at once she understood why she didn't feel like returning to Abydos and see Anise. Anise, whom she had made her serf, her thing, an object of pleasure and vanity. She was afraid of meeting her serf's gaze.

What use was a Draka who couldn't face her serf's gaze ? Rayner was scared of the answer.

She wanted to rage at her fate, at the thrice-damned alien device who had… _changed_ her. She knew it was useless. And she decided to face the present instead.

"My name is Ann Rayner."

They understood.

"I'm Cenor."

"And I'm Natylis"

"We live here"

"The Jaffas came, took us into slavery -"

"Your people saved us !"

They spoke fast. As if they didn't want to leave an interval of silence, that could allow her sadness to burst again. And the girl's last words filled the soldier's heart with sorely needed pride and joy. Yes, her people had done good. The young Tollans' gratitude was burning in their eyes and it was deeply comforting.

Rayner's smile became less forced. Her answering words left her mouth without any forethought.

"I'm glad we did. I… I know what it's like to be at the mercy of a Goa'uld -" she was hesitant to pursue, afraid of succumbing to the agonizing memories again.

They understood that too. It was a shared experience.

"You don't have to tell -" the girl began, and stopped when two fingers gently brushed her lips.

The woman's voice was soft. "Yes I do. I need to tell it to someone… someone who understands." And these two ferals could understand, more than her people could, who had never experienced anything alike.

Natylis nodded in comprehension. She and Cenor were ready to listen to the Draka's tale. And so she told them, in clinical detail, as if it all had happened to someone else, her ordeal inside Bar'shan's palace. Her companions listened, and looked suitably horrified by the Goa'uld's cruelty. And then savage satisfaction when she told how she had escaped, enacting a bloody payment on the Jaffas in doing so.

She ended the story at Barshan's eventual capture, and left out Anise.

Nevertheless, the Tollans' eyes were shining at the conclusion. The Drakas had given the Goa'ulds a bloody nose, twice, and it felt good.

For Ann as well. It was true, speaking had metaphorically lifted a part of the weight on her shoulders. The wound was nowhere fully healed, still throbbing deep inside her mind, but it was a dull ache, and she sensed it would become fainter with time. She could deal with it at least, she thought.

On impulse, she looked up. The light had changed, casting elongated shadows. It was already late afternoon, she realized, and her impromptu confidantes matched her observation.

Rayner understood their subtle change in body language.

"Sorry" she chuckled lightly "I suppose I wasted your afternoon"

Both blonde heads shook in protesting denegation. "No ! Not at all, it was amazing to meet you !"

"But, it's true it's getting late" Natylis added sheepishly. "Not that we're bored, but we need to get back to Satria before night..."

"...and we have to trek back to the beginning of the trail, the automated aircar service won't land here."

Ann nodded in understanding. The couple was late indeed and likely wouldn't make it before nightfall. She had a sudden inspiration.

"Look, I will call an aircar from the base - it can land here and then take you home safely."

"Oh, we don't want to -" Natylis began to protest, only to be interrupted firmly.

"Not at all. It's the least I can do, and it's no bother at all."

"Oh then well I suppose it's all right…"

Rayner gave them a "that's decided" look and moved decisively through the water, toward the rocky ledge where she had left her possessions. It was a good bit higher than the water surface and she had to climb out halfway, allowing the Tollan couple to see her naked body down to her sculptured buttocks. Cenor stared at them until Natylis slapped his own butt lightly and he guiltily turned his gaze to some flowers away from the nude, beautiful and athletic woman.

The Draka retrieved her small communicator and made contact, explaining her request. She listened to the answer, concluded with a "good" and put the little box down. She turned around happily to confirm the aircar was on the way, distracting Cenor off the flowers and innocently giving him a good view of her front side before slipping back into the water neck deep.

Perhaps fortunately for the young man, his girlfriend started to ask Rayner about her liking of Tollan life, and the food, and how different it was from what she usually ate, and where she had bought her local clothes, to which all Ann answered truthfully, conscious of the girl's subtle (for a human) diversion maneuver but allowing herself to go along, rather uncharacteristically again.

Tollan aircars were fast. Ten minutes later, the grey-silver military limo swooped down noiselessly but for the sound of air torn apart by its passage, and hovered just above a clear spot near the pool. The couple had already dressed, but to Rayner's small pleasure had not asked her to turn around, mimicking her own lack of modesty. She found herself standing naked and waving Cenor and Natylis goodbye, as the aircar lifted away on autopilot.

The aircraft quickly faded from view and the Decurion remained standing in the light evening breeze, unmoving and unfocused. Her mind was pleasantly blank, and the perspective of a nightly run back to base was invigorating.

Still.

_That's all well and good but I didn't even get fucked._

**Deep space, Sol Sector**

**04/14/2011**

"Do you realize that no Draka ever went this far from Earth before ?"

Gwendolyn Ingolfsson shot an amused glance at the man who had just spoken aloud next to her. Centurion Edwin Palme (named after his illustrious great-grandmother of Eurasian War-era fame) was a first-generation Drakensis like her, who had made his career in the Space Force like her, but started later enough to be her junior. Nevertheless a competent and dedicated officer, proficient in every technical aspect of their ship as was becoming standard practice thanks to his race, or rather species' huge memory and intellect.

Back then, in their parents' time an officer would major in two or three technical fields and then pick up working knowledge of other systems as they served. Nowadays, all-Drakensis crews were expected to be specialists in everything from ship-borne hydroponics to laser weapon systems, and cross-train regularly. Such cross-expertise was a necessity with small crew sizes and long-deployment times, but in practice everyone would be given one set of assignments for a given cruise and focus on it. Studies had showed this practice to afford better mission effectiveness.

Therefore Centurion Palme was Ingolfsson's Executive Officer for the duration of the mission, with a secondary technical role in life-support and pulse-drive maintenance. Naturally, he was also expected to get practical experience with the brand-new hyperdrive installed on the ship. That was, after all, the whole point of the cruise. It was no secret that more hyperdrive-equipped ships would be entering service in the following months and every young and ambitious officer in the fleet (which amounted to everyone under Merarch-grade) had eyes set on those coming slots.

The discovery of the stargate and its new perspectives had come as a wonderful unexpected surprise for the Space Force. Before that, future was envisioned as "a long long time of doing nothing new while every effort went to rebuilding what was destroyed in the War, and no building new warships for centuries maybe, since there was nobody to contest the Solar System any more". All that, while the groundsloggers on Earth had fun uprooting the deeply-buried Alliance stay-behind forces. Everyone knew it was dirty, nasty work, but at least it was action, and worthy of the Race's martial prowess.

Those young men and women in space felt they were left out of the fun and into a dead end. Many had asked to be transferred to Ground Force, and obtained it. Those who were left were either too far or too indispensable, or too fond of spacer-life to leave.

And finally the future was brightening. Not only was FTL travel possible, but there was a whole galaxy to explore, fight and conquer. And the Fleet was shaking itself up and out of its utilitarian slumber. And that generation of officers had something great to look forward to.

And those who had stayed up by choice were now sniggering as those who had succumbed to the call of planet-based duty were now fielding requests to be reassigned for Fleet service. And their applications were shuffled at the back of the queue by the Manning Board.

At Gwendolyn's slightly mocking glance, Edwin caught himself and slapped his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah, apart from cheating and using the stargate, I mean"

"True" she answered, some of the levity gone from her voice as she remembered a younger self in her lover's embrace, peering out of a viewport to watch the Alliance colony-ship accelerating towards its far-flung goal on a pillar of antimatter-fueled flame. How she had longed to emulate them…

"Well, we know the hyperdrive's fine for short distances" _such a change of perspective, calling it a short distance what used to take years of voyage,_ she thought, "and soon we'll find out if it holds long enough for an interstellar journey."

Edwin Palme shifted in his couch and glanced at the viewscreen above - well, above related to the thrust axis - and its steadily scrolling checklist readouts. Ingolfsson was doing the same out of the corner of her eye. The process was automated, and would stop anyway if a glitch was discovered. Everyone was strapped in acceleration couches as if for a conventional pulse-drive boost. Without inertial compensation, the initial submergence into the hyperdrive window would amount to a sharp acceleration of five gravities for about three seconds, which was an aftereffect of the exotic physical processes at work and fortunately not the relative acceleration of the ship as measured from its real-space starting point.

Five G was already straining the ship's structural strength, but pulse-drive cruisers were tough for things designed to move in space using newtonian physics. The main drive system itself made it both necessary and possible, as it pushed the ship forward through series of timed low-yield nuclear explosions, their momentum smoothed by massive shock absorbers. The cruiser's primary load-bearing framework was a geodesic sheathed carbon-nanotube composite, designed to soak up huge stresses without buckling, and protected from external aggression by the rest of the ship.

The Starsword had lingered six hours after the last "short-range" jump beyong the Oort Cloud. Time for its twenty crew to do another round of checks before the main journey. The hull was inspected by remote to find any stress damage. The various hull attachments were safely secured for boost, antennas, solar and thermal panels and other flimsy structures folded and tucked against the hull.

Hatches were battened and locked, everything not firmly attached tucked inside lockers where they wouldn't budge during the boost phase.

Standard procedures for a decidedly non-standard happening.

Of course, it was part of the learning process. They were making procedures as they went.

"Capacitors are fully charged" the XO read the latest scrolling update. A glance on the systems board confirmed it. The banks of capacitors surrounding the hyperdrive, and part of the FTL assembly replacing one of the basic cruiser design's six main pressurized reactant tanks, a series of large spheres laying inside the geodesic frame on top of the fusion reactor and pulse-drive section, were all at 100% of their nominal charge.

The hyperdrive assembly itself was a 6 meters wide by 5 meters long cylinder, half its thickness devoted to ring after ring of supercapacitor circuitry with the hyperwindow generator at the center. Another of the original reactant tanks had been removed to make room for the naquadah generator feeding the hyperdrive's voracious appetite during FTL flight. The opening of the hyperwindow was the most energy-intensive process, and why the generator's already considerable output had to be supplemented by the capacitors.

The loss of reactant mass was deemed an acceptable tradeoff. After all, the hyperdrive meant that a ship wouldn't have to spend as much time under conventional boost to cross long distances.

"Navcomp is green, vector coordinates uploaded in the system…"

"And final countdown" Gwen almost whispered. The rest of the crew's readiness was acknowledged by the crew status board, all green, meaning they were all lying down and harnessed in their couch. Everything was green. A textbook example of readiness. She felt proud of her command.

Nothing left but wait. It was the compcore's show now. Their destination and the hyperspace vector were entered into the hyperdrive's built-in control logic, which would tune and shape the astronomical energies going into the faster-than-light travel mechanism. The precise instant where it would activate and set the Starsword on its headlong race between stars was left to the inhuman accuracy of electronics. Not even Drakensis reaction times could ever hope to approach the accuracy needed to control the system at such breakneck speeds.

As it was, astrogation was a very automated process. Anyone inside the ship could calculate orbital vectors, acceleration and delta-V requirements in his head (after training), but doing it every single time would drive the best ones mad. The navcomp overtook the drudge work. Give it initial coordinates and a destination and it would spit out the corresponding vector, time and acceleration needed, accounting for operating parameters, such as a zero-zero (as in zero relative velocity, zero vector divergence) intercept solution.

Before the fitting of an hyperdrive, Starsword's navcomp would have complied with the "take us to Alpha Centauri" request with a perfectly working solution, albeit with a caveat of "...but the crew is unlikely to still be alive when we finally get there".

But now it would "only" take a month. Which was still fantastically short as far as everyone was concerned, their perception shaped by an entire life of non-FTL spaceflight expectations.

The Starsword's maiden interstellar voyage was to take it to the very bolthole of the defunct Alliance for Democracy. It was too bad that apparently they wouldn't have the pleasure of greeting the New America with a missile salvo. The mystery was still deep about their disappearance in the middle of nowhere and that was the reason why the Starsword's return journey, if all went smoothly, would involve stopping in the sector where the colony ship had last been sighted and search for clues about its fate.

The countdown reached 0 down to the microsecond figure. And Gwendolyn Ingolfsson was pressed back in her molded couch by a giant's fist as the Dragon-emblazoned cruiser vanished into the swirling blue depths of hyperspace.

**Luna, Sol System**

**04/16/2011**

Polignac watched the surveillance camera's take with mild interest. He was deep, very deep in the lowest and most secure levels of Aresopolis Command, kilometers under the lunar surface, inside the maximum security detention block's monitoring station. A small room filled with banks of monitors, kept in perpetual low light. Ordinarily, two servicemen were tasked with keeping a close watch on the guests. Jaffa officers mostly, a handful of them among the scores of captured warriors, who were kept alive just in case their knowledge might be needed. They were difficult customers, with a high resilience to questioning. The methods to make them talk were still being worked on. Standard drugs didn't work well because of the symbiote, and the hosts had the ability to enter a deep state of trance where they were unresponsive to stimulation.

They were still small fry compared to the other guest. The Domination's pet Goa'uld, some said. Bar'shan had been persuaded to collaborate out of self-interest and preservation, and he had indeed given valuable technological insights. His input had accelerated the development of the Domination's indigenous hyperdrive by a magnitude - even with him deliberately holding out his best knowledge. He gave in so that his captors couldn't openly accuse him of not cooperating, but at the same time he delayed as much as he felt he could get away with. And his captors knew that. And he knew they knew. It was a delicate balance. His own interest was to drag out the process. Theirs was to keep getting data out of him. For that, they had to accomodate him… and his tastes. Or he'd get moody and sultry. And the threat of direct physical pain didn't frighten him as much as before.

That could have become a problem. Fortunately, Anton thought, the rest of the Domination's scientific establishment hadn't remained idle. And the fine folks at Virunga Biocontrol had an abundant supply of live symbiotes to experiment upon. And they'd come up with a mighty fine development indeed. One they were 99% confident would work on Bar'shan's mature symbiote.

And so Anton was there. He had asked to. His only regret was Rayner's absence, but he didn't want to interrupt her vacation for the slimy creature's sake. She'd see the result later.

Presently Bar'shan was busy. Not working, not eating, not resting. Busy with a pleasure serf. He had refrained from hitting them since Polignac had explained the rules - in a very explicit fashion - but he still liked it rough. The girl - she was sixteen, a bred servus from Stevenson and De Veere, trained in the arts of sex, and dosed up to the nostrils with an Aphrodisine-Dociline mix so that she wouldn't keep any mental scarring from the Goa'uld's hamfisted treatment. Her dark brow hair were spilling around her face and concealing her contorted features, but the loud moans and whimpers of delicious agony were explicit enough, coming out in rythm with the banging of Bar'shan's greasy hair-covered balls on her cunt. His own grunts and occasional utterances kept a counterpoint to her vocalizations, his hands gripping her hips firmly to keep her in place while he pounded her rectum. He was also naked, unfortunately. That was really an ugly body, the watching Drakensis reflected. Fat and hairy, apeish in a way - a Ghouloon might find it attractive, maybe.

From Bar'shan's point of view, the girl didn't appear to be in pain enough. Sure, she moaned and whined well, and her blood made a fine lubrication over his cock, but it just wasn't the same thing. Those thrice-cursed Drakas didn't allow him to get really rough with the fucktoys. And the food was bland. And the surroundings were… well they did put some printed reproductions of the paintings that used to hang on his palace's walls. But it just wasn't the same thing ! How he longed for his Goa'uld allies to notice those damn primitives and burn their worlds to cinders, preferably after freeing his person…

His fingers tightened their grip on the brunette's pale flesh, making her gasp and squeeze the member buried inside her. Soon… real soon… any minute now… he wouldn't hold a second more… He felt the tension rise up and his scrotum tighten in anticipation of climax. His breath becoming more ragged… the glorious pleasures of a finely tuned host body…

He was so focused on the exquisite sensations coming from the engorged flesh that he didn't notice the armored door sliding open.

Just as the Goa'uld felt the first palpitations of orgasmic release, a smirking Polignac fired a zat blast at his sweaty back and the naked alien went limp, collapsing like a sack on the wench, who in turn collapsed on her belly with a cry of surprise and then a great sigh of relief.

Blackness lifted to leave… more blackness. But at least it was conscious - or was it ? It could listen itself thinking - and replay its latest memories. The fullness of the host body, its myriad nerve endings, muscle strands and biorythms, the other human body in close contact, the sudden interruption in mid-climax. Frustration. Then… fear. For the carnal memory left to a present… nothingness. The mind inside the symbiote known as Bar'shan, former Goa'uld lord, writhed in a void of sensory deprivation. The constant input of physical stimulations from its bodies had abruptly ceased. How was it possible ? Why didn't it feel anything… not even its own serpentine form ? A pure mind, absolved from the flesh. Such a thing was just speculation by philosphers with too much idle time on their hands. And then, quickly, far too quickly for its sanity, the full brunt of void vertigo hit it. A mind existing just by itself. Unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling. Just its core self-awareness. Awareness of its own thought process now going in circles - _I can't feel anything I can't feel anything am I alive who am I what am I I can't feel anything I can't feel myself what's happening to me what's happening to me I can't feel anything I don't have a mouth and I want to scream -_ Bar'shan's sanity streamed away as the panic, pure primal panic as everything a sentient mind took for granted was swept off under its feet.

"Neuronal activity increasing - it's conscious again"

Seconds later. "Activity spiking - going haywire in there"

"It's going into sensory deprivation syndrome -"

"Time for step two"

The freewheeling, on the edge of madness, Bar'shan entity entombed into its own non-responding snakelike body was saved - right on the brink of permanent dementia - by very little things. It wasn't more than the confuse luminous motives one sees projected on the interior of his eyelids when closing his eyes. Little pinpricks of light dancing on a black background. But it was enough of an anchor to reality and the drowning mind clung madly to the dancing multicolored spots. It was something, it wasn't itself, it connected it to something else, to the world, whatever that was. It wasn't alone !

"Base visual stimulation initialized"

"Got a response"

Professional voices. Clinical, as if describing an experiment - which was indeed the case.

"Good. Neural activity stabilizing - I think it was close"

A shrug. "It's a complex organism, more than the subjects we used before - what did you expect ? But we got it licked, I think. Going to step three…"

"Initializing auditory link and connecting external visualization"

"Keep the self-perception trunk off for now"

There was a white flash, and the luminous dots rearranged themselves into an undoubtedly organized pattern. Lines and shapes, coagulating in more and more accurate motifs… and vision. Pixellated vision, with colors that felt both too vivid and too artificial, yet there was no mistaking it. It didn't come from its eyes, but the symbiote _saw._ Tried to shift the field of vision, instinctively. And realized there was something wrong, for it didn't move at all. An immutable window, it had no control over it… but things moved inside. Flat shapes, blurry and ill-defined, with colors that didn't make sense, moving and shifting. One of them grew larger until it filled almost all the picture. Bar'shan realized it was a face, a human face, made of multicolored pixels, a composite of a face in drug-induced vision. But it wasn't the effect of a drug, Bar'shan felt certain of it. And focused onto the face even as distorted noises joined the visual stimuli, bringing down another wall of its mental prison. Sounds, weird but remotely recognizable, like a swimmer immerged in water and hearing voices coming from above, crossing the barrier between two different media. Voices !

"Increased activity of visual and auditory cortex"

"It hears"

"And sees"

"Adjusting input levels. Let's try to refine the stimulation…"

The shape that was a face jumped into focus and the wild colors became less artificial - still oversaturated, and not quite like the picture created by human eyes or symbiotic ones. But the alien brain could use the input and process it into something that made sense to itself.

And it wanted to scream again. The face floating seemingly centimeters ahead, belonged to the hated Draka commander with the barbarian name. There was no mistaking this, nor the smirk curving his lips.

Was it an illusion, and hallucination ?

Nothing could have prepared the Goa'uld for that.

And the voices came back. One of them, much closer, still warped like a parody of a Goa'uld's command voice. But what it said, Bar'shan understood.

"_**Are you happy to see me ?"**_

Again, the yearning to burst out into reality - real reality - smash the walls that kept its mind as a prisoner inside itself - and to scream rage and defiance.

To grab and shake the bars blocking the exit from its prison cell - except there were no bars, and no prison cell. Just a floating sensationless void, and the sole window close enough to touch and an eternity away.

"Stress levels mounting - I think our little friend is angry, Merarch"

Anton de Polignac straightened up and away from the small video camera and glanced aside, at the men and women in white coats emblazoned with Biocontrol's crest. The elite of the Domination when it came to mastery of life. The team of scientists and researchers in this room had unraveled the mysteries of the human brain - they were the fathers (and mothers) of neural implant technology, the art of interfacing brain and machine. What they had created in the past decade would soon become a fundamental part of every sentient being in the Domination, allowing them to exert the same control over unliving matter as they did over their own living body.

And they had applied this knowledge to the Goa'uld brain as well, as soon as their colleagues had learned how to keep the symbiote alive out of a host organism.

And they had learned a very interesting thing in their experiments. Brains - human brains - needed external stimuli. Cut from it, even from the feedback signals of their own living supporting tissue, they simply went mad in short order. It could even be made into a very effective form of torture, like controlled drowning.

And Goa'uld brains were, in that respect, similar. It had taken time to identify the specific nerve terminations and cerebral arrays linked to a symbiote's perception. A fair number of subjects had died, even experimental host bodies used to pinpoint symbiote sensory pathways. But it was worth it.

Standing in one corner of the research laboratory, a circular column, its inferior half brushed metal and featureless but for a couple thick cables snaking out to the compsets taking up most of the remaining space. The upper half was transparent glass, like an aquarium, and filled with a physiological-compatible fluid. Inside it was Bar'shan, or at least its core Goa'uld part, the black serpent held in place by metal shackles, and a mane of translucent gossamer-thing fibers floated gently before disappearing into the metal cylinder below. Each fiber, on the other end, was attached to the symbiote's, piercing the skin with needles thinner than a human hair that connected directly onto one of the alien's myriad nerve endings.

Anton casually strode to the womb-like column and rapped on the glass cover twice just as the senior Biocontrol researcher turned the video camera towards the corner apparatus, allowing the being imprisoned inside to get a view of itself.

"Knock knock, Bar'shan. How do you like your new home ?"

Outgoing audio was still not satisfactorily calibrated yet, and therefore inactive. But the frenzied stirring of the dark alien ophidian against its restraints was answer enough. It didn't look very happy, and its Drakensis nemesis watched its futile agitation with bared teeth.

**Abydos, New Burgundy Province**

**04/16/2011**

So many trees ! A desert dweller, Asif had never seen so many trees ! Even in the oasis he used to call home, and which represented the only spot of green in thousands of square miles of dry scorching sand and rocks, even there the trees were less numerous, less dense, less tall, less green. It was awe-inducing. The goat-shepherd's previous life hadn't prepared him for the sights. Previous life, for him and everyone else on Abydos, who'd been stuck at ancient Egyptian-levels of development until the New Masters came and replaced the old near-forgotten gods.

So many wonders he had witnessed, he, a simple goat shepherd whose sole ambition growing up could be summed up in "marry a girl of the tribe, own a small goat herd, have kids of his own and then die, never having seen much more than his oasis and the surrounding desert".

Maybe he wasn't his own man. His life and loyalty belonged to the Masters, and the neck tattoo was ample proof of it if he needed a reminder. But so were the clean, healthy teeth in his mouth. Or the full belly he had, every day since the Masters' arrival. Or the lack of sickness. The list could have gone on and on. No, really, in his mind the Drakas did deliver on their promise of protection, peace and abundance. They did deserve unquestioned obeisance and, well, acceptance of their stranger mores. Besides, it wasn't as if they asked human sacrifices out of their servants, like the Valley Lords used to according to the caravan traders !

There was work to do, yes. Often it was hard, physical work. But they allowed the men to rest and made sure they stayed fit. Like most able men of his tribe, Asif was drafted following the Yoking, and worked in the labor gangs laying the maglev track in the desert. He was trained in the wondrous machines introduced by the Masters, machines that cut through hard soil as if it were wet sand, and moved dirt around in huge lumps that no beast of burden could have carried. And one day they rejoined the other end of the track in the middle of the desert, and there was a great feast in celebration.

And now, he was to discover new things. Seeing his birth world from the sky, as the giant airship glided over desert then mountains and snowcaps then lush jungle, immense savannahs, seas and lakes full of water, more water than he ever imagined possible, then lands covered in trees like a green pelt, more rivers and streams ! He could have spent all the journey with his face stuck on the transparent glass, if the other passengers, serfs like him, some he knew from the oasis, others coming from the Eastern lands, hadn't jostled and competed for the same. The compartment only had four such openings, and contained a hundred men, all of them eager to marvel at the planetary vistas. It was a little cramped and the benches were hard, but to them all it was nothing short of divine. Flying in the sky like the gods did !

Well, it would have been even better if the men hadn't been kept apart from the women, and Asif thus separated from his lovely new wife for the duration of the voyage. Of course, it was temporary, and then he met her again once the airship landed and disgorged its cargo of human labor, equipment and supplies for the newly-established plantations.

Asif was lucky. His good work on the maglev track was noted by the Overseers, and he was therefore hand-picked by one of the Draka settlers, a soldier, the native knew, one who was battling the enemies of the Domination among the stars.

He had been allowed to marry Kasia before leaving, and there was a feast too, with hs parents and tribesfolk, and the Masters even dropped by to bless the new couple.

Yes, he would give hs best. So many trees ! He would cut them and build a house for Kasia, and the children she would soon give him with the blessing of the Masters. A house made of wood ! And it would be close to the river, and they could bathe and swim !

His overseer had even shown him the plans of the Plantation. They would cut down the trees and create vast grain fields, fertile orchards. It was the work of a lifetime, and he was looking forward to do his part. Maybe his future children would do the same one day, perhaps even on another world !

**Tollania**

**04/16/2011**

Ann Rayner woke up and streched, taking care not to disturb and wake up her companion, still asleep on the bed next to her. The bedroom was still dark, the polarizing bay keeping out exterior light. But it should be close to dawn, she reckoned. She rose up in a fluid motion, leaving the material of the bed adjust to her absent weight, and stretched again, hands reaching up for the ceiling. She felt her leg and arm muscles tense and relax, shedding the last vestiges of morning stiffness, and tiptoed out of the silent room. The seperation screen slid shut and opaque behind her, and she navigated the dark living space with cat-like ease until she reached a wall panel. The system was simple to understand, and she was becoming familiar with Tollan user interfaces. She was rewarded by a soft chime and a sudden avalanche of light as the great exterior bay depolarized, allowing the golden dawn to flood the apartment's main living quarter. She stepped closer, mesmerized by the revealed magnificience of the urban vista, viewed from the upscale suite of her… recent acquaintance, perched five hundred meters above ground level, higher than many of the surrounding skyscrapers and therefore fully illuminated by the rising Tollan star. A forest of glittering glass towers, their mineral purity only enhanced by the gem-like colored spots of vertical gardens and flower-strips, sharply delineated by the deep contrasting shadows casted by the near-horizontal sunlight. Air traffic was light, here and there an aircar or larger vehicle caught the sun rays and flashed briefly to draw her eye.

Tollania, capital and crown jewel of the Tollan Empire. It was beautiful, after its builders' fashion, subdued elegance rather than the flamboyant excentricity Rayner was accustomed to, and she loved every detail of the sight. The sated smile on her lips she didn't even notice consciously, as much the effect of this morning visual treat as the afterglow of her night's pleasures.

Her hand hit another control, and a section of the clear vertical surface slid aside, while a soft buzz, imperceptible but for her enhanced hearing, signaled the activation of the protective external forcefield. She stepped forward onto the balcony and leant against the railing's adaptive surface. Had she even cared about her present nudity, the technology built into the Tollan skytower would have addressed her concern, for the protective field didn't merely cut off the howling altitude wind, it also presented an opaque mirror-like shell to exterior observers and preserved the residents' privacy. It was expensive, though, a luxury item found only in the most upscale dwellings. Its concealing effect was also limited to the visual and infrared spectrum. It was enough for civilians. The Tollan military had next to no use for such a limited cloak.

The tall redhead bent forward with more caution than she would have admitted. Knowing there was no risk of plummeting down to crash on the ground a half-kilometer below was one thing. Believing it enough to override one's deeply-rooted survival instinct was another. Far below, she could distinguish the fringes of the Imperial Gardens, its parks and lawns and streams still asleep and bathed in darkness. Almost. Her eye picked up a flight of birds landing on a pond's shore to sate their morning thirst. Tall spindly legs, a flexible neck and a long straw-like beak, black bodies with a streak of red on their backs, so different and similar at the same time from the Earth birds she knew.

And she heard the panel slide open again behind her, the subtle air displacement created by a body's passage. She smiled at the distant birds, just as two hands seized her waist. She didn't startle, surely to her would-be startler's disappointment, although she whimsically reflected how unwise and detrimental to one's health it usually was, trying to startle an adult Drakensis.

She inhaled the scent. The perfume had faded, but the musky animal smell was still a healthy, masculine and inebriating one. There was also a lingering trace of her own scent, mixed with his, which was all too unsurprising after the previous night's exertions. She bit her lip at the sudden memories, blinked slowly, and turned her head to face him, beaming quietly under his touch.

"Morning, beautiful"

The words still felt strange, their meaning so familiar in a tongue that was still foreign, even to her quick learning mind. The undercurrents of old, long dead Earth languages only made it more surreal. She almost snorted at that. Surreal was the term, yes. Her behavior to begin with. Cavorting with a human… a feral, in her people's lexicon, by itslf wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Doing it without asserting her dominance and control, on the other hand… Not even acting equal, as she'd usually do with fellow Citizens. The freak she had become instead gave herself to a man, gave herself for his pleasure and enjoyment, down on all four like a bitch in heat and begging him to take her, her pheromones screaming her need to be filled and mounted. And screamed she had as he rode her, his hands grabbing handfuls of red hair for impromptu reins while she bucked under his drive. He hadn't noticed his own exhaustion until much later, even in the longer Tollan night. He had nearly collapsed after their last orgasm faded, muttered a few words and almost fell unconscious on the bed. She had followed suit, satiated for a while at last, and slid into Morpheus' embrace with her head propped on his chest.

"Hello." The word was followed by a kiss, at first a light peck on the lips. He answered her push and pressed his own tongue on her lips in return, prompting those to part again and allow her own tongue to probe out. Seconds and heartbeats ticked by, a brief split for breath, and both mouths merged again, as deep as before, and fingers went to work on the sides. Ann's body turned around, rubbing with deliberate slowness against his until she was facing the Tollan male with her back against the railing, never unlocking her lips from his.

The first sunrays began to hit the tallest trees, far below, as a Drakensis woman shared a lover's kiss with an alien man. And then she withdrew, and halted his instinctual lunge toward her with two fingers and a mischievous wink. His expression of frustration and surprise quickly disappeared in understanding, when she slowly, agonizingly slowly slid down, the tip of her nails tracing goosebumps on his skin then stopping at mid-height, where the long fingers caught a firm grip on his cheeks, pressing down against the firm muscle under the skin.

And she locked eyes with his, allowing him to gaze deep at her twinkling blue orbs, her face a picture of renewed lust and desire to please. No more words had been exchanged. Just a deep sighing moan to express the intense feeling of fullness, when her lips parted again and took his manhood inside their feverish embrace.

To many Tollans, the Drakas were heroes, liberators, lifesavers. To many more, they were a mystery. To a few, they were an unsettling enigma. To one of them, they were a woman, a gorgeous and strong woman who had the supernatural gift to give pleasure again and again in addition to the sharp mind he had only glimpsed in their short time together.

To other beings far and farther away, the Drakas were enemies or monsters to erase from the universe. Some of those beings were ancient and powerful beyond measure, yet they still ignored the unknown threat. A few others had fled with scant hope of ever finding the means to avenge themselves. Yet they had, by an unpredictable twist of fate. And they were just beginning to realize the possibilities they had stumbled upon.

The Drakas themselves knew one thing. Whatever new order would reign over the galaxy would be born in war. And war was what they prepared for.

_And there it is. The End. No more Snakepit, it's over ! You won't be getting anymore !_

…

…

_Wait, what do you think you're doing with that rope ? And is that...? Drop it, dammit, before you hurt someone with that sharpened stake !_

_Okay, okay ! Snakepit's finished. But the characters will be back in the following volume ! _

_It's going to be named Stars of Iron (title could still change, but it sounds cool). And it should debut shortly enough for you dear readers and fans not to succumb to the urge of… well, whatever. _

_And please ! Leave a comment !_


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